


A Choice Not Mine

by FromTheBoundlessSea



Series: The Celiaverse [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Arranged Marriage, BAMF Elia Martell, Elia Martell Deserves Better, Elia Martell Lives, F/M, Female Friendship, Forbidden Love, Forced Marriage, Happy Cersei Lannister, House Lannister, House Targaryen, Jaime Lannister Has Issues, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Rhaegar Targaryen, Lack of Communication, Love Triangles, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Marriage Contracts, Past Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Politics, Protective Jaime Lannister, Rhaegar Targaryen Lives, Secrets, Targaryen Madness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 41,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheBoundlessSea/pseuds/FromTheBoundlessSea
Summary: Once betrothed to Jaime Lannister before the Mad King cruelly took away his choice at marriage, Celia Tully’s fate is once more decided upon by a dragon sitting upon the throne. Her marriage to the king’s younger brother is not that of love, but of politics. She is the good sister of the head of Hous Arryn and Stark, the niece of the head of House Whent, and the daughter of the head of House Tully. It is not for her that the Shadow Prince meets her at the alter of the great sept, but for her name and connections. As Celia navigates her new life, she must battle with her feelings for the man never allowed to be her own and the husband who has shown her more kindness than he needs to.
Relationships: Ashara Dayne/Original Male Character(s) (past), Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Jaime Lannister/Original Female Character(s), Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen (past), Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: The Celiaverse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547251
Comments: 264
Kudos: 344





	1. Prologue

Jaime stood in his dress attire, not wearing his armor as it was to be a celebration of unity to show that the rebellion was over and peace had been won at last. He wore a gold tunic and dark red trousers, his sword sheathed in its hilt attached to his belt. The Kingsguard were to only wear their swords, not a bit of armor leather beneath their clothes either. The only thing showing them to be of the Kingsguard was the white cloak around his shoulders. 

In all honesty, they probably shouldn’t have allowed him his sword. Ser Arthur Dayne seemed to agree as he had his thumb subtly on the hilt of Jaime’s sword to keep it from being drawn. Ser Oswell Whent kept glancing at Jaime sympathetically. However, the knight was close by just in case he needed to stop Jaime from doing something stupid. 

While Jaime greatly respected all the knights when it came to their abilities, he had lost most of it when it came to their hand in the rebellion, or lack thereof. They knew what Rhaegar was doing. They knew what he planned. They helped him. They did not argue against a green boy, who had not yet seen battle, being left as the only Kingsguard to be the only guard for the king and the prince’s family and the entire keep and city. True, they applauded him and he had earned merit in his actions of taking out the Mad King when it became apparent of what he was going to do to the city. However, now there would always be a wariness about him, especially now… Especially now. 

He glared up at the altar where the prince stood. 

Prince Daeron had a similar appearance to the new king, however, he was of a more sturdy build and a stern looking face. Cersei had told Jaime that he was possibly more handsome than King Rhaegar, but the set expression he held was tighter than the more calm, almost mournful, appearance of the king. 

The prince stood in Targaryen black, veins of red embroidered into the velvet. A small circlet of rose gold upon his head and the broach signifying him as his brother’s Hand was upon his breast. He looked as stern as ever, seeming to not care at all about who he was about to marry, whose life he was about to ruin. 

The doors of the sept opened and Jaime’s heart thundered in his chest as he turned to look at her. This should have been their day. This should have been the beginning of their lives together. The should have been the day he proclaimed to all the gods that he belonged to her and that she was his. 

But first the Mad King got in their way, dragging Jaime into the Kingsguard without so much as a choice. Now… Now she was to marry someone else and he would be left to guard her for the rest of his days. He thought of the story of Queen Naerys and Aemon the Dragonknight. How could the Targaryen prince stomach it? At the very least Jaime had heard no rumors of the prince harming women. If he had… He would run the damned Targaryen prince through, not caring for the consequences. It was probably why Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell were at his side. 

Celia was beautiful. Her red hair cascaded down her back like fire, a braided rose behind her head a comb of sapphire like a small tiara in her hair. She wore a white dress, the color of pearls, a slight sheen to the fabric that made it look like mother of pearl. Golden embroidery was under the iridescent fabric. Jaime had no doubt she had made it herself. Celia had been working on it for years. 

He could still remember her lips upon his as he had her pressed up against one of the walls of Harrenhal during that blasted tourney. He could remember her taste and the sweetness of her breath as she admitted to being almost finished with her dress, of how she had even sewn a shift for underneath it, just for him, of myrish lace for his eyes and his alone.

She was a dream and a nightmare all at once. 

Celia’s eyes shifted to him as her father walked her down the aisle. Her blue eyes were shining bright and Jaime knew she was almost going to cry. Ser Oswell put a hand on his arm to keep him still and Jaime wanted to scream. He would too if he were not afraid that the new king might take his anger out on Celia. Jaime wanted to run to her, hold her, press his lips to hers as he would whisper sweet everythings and comfort her. 

She looked away from him and Jaime felt his heart shatter in his chest. He had not even felt so broken or uncertain of everything when he had run his sword through the Mad King’s back. How is it that this was the moment he would repeat in his mind over and over until his final breath? He knew the answer. He loved her. He loved her more than anything and anyone in his entire life. And now she was being given to another man, nothing more than a war prize to keep the peace, an offering of the losing side to appease those who had won. 

Jaime watched as Prince Daeron offered Celia his arm and he walked her the last few steps to the altar as the septon presided over the ceremony. Jaime did not hear the words of affirmation or the professions of loyalty. He was numb. His entire body was numb. It was as though he couldn’t breathe. 

One thing was certain though, his heart stopped as her maiden cloak was removed and the Targaryen one was placed around her shoulders. 

Jaime was fairly certain he was dead or, at least, a part of him had died at the sight of her cloaked in the Targaryen colors and watched as a single tear slid down her cheek. 

—

Celia sat next to her new husband and watched as the loyalist and the rebel lords talked amongst themselves. The tension could be cut with a knife and Celia could feel the air hang heavy around them. She glanced at her new good brother. 

The king was more morose and withdrawn than usual. He was in mourning after all. His smile was tight and forced whenever someone approached him, but Celia felt no sympathy towards him, turning her attention to Queen Elia. 

The Dornish woman sat proudly next to the king, looking more like royalty than the king himself, her curled hair was styled to perfection, her lips painted a delicate red and her dark eyes like those of a viper, ready to strike at the opportune moment. Everyone had heard the tale of her bravery, of how she had fought like a tigress protecting her cubs as the Mountain attempted to hurt her and her children. She had used one of her hairpins, stabbing him in the eye and through his skull. The queen had been well loved in the past in her time as a princess, but, as a queen, she was revered. 

It was hard to believe that scarce a few months ago they were all at war and the Red Keep was being sacked by an unknown force, it appeared Ironborn, but Celia wondered if it might have been an attempt by Tywin Lannister for a bid for power. She didn’t know and she was terrified to ask, not wanting to upset her new family or to put Jaime in danger. 

Jaime. 

She looked out in the crowd of people and found him watching her. Her heart fluttered in her chest although she knew it shouldn’t. But, how could it not. It seemed as though it only beat for him, it had for a long time. 

Celia looked away, a flush coming to her cheeks as shame swirled in her belly. She was a married woman now, expected to do all that her husband commanded her. But fear fluttered there as well. His father had taken mistresses and forced Queen Rhaella to an early grave over all the pregnancies and miscarriages. His brother had forced a second dangerous pregnancy upon Queen Elia shortly after her first and also ran off with a girl who was not yet even a woman and killed her in childbirth. 

Celia glanced at the man beside her. She wondered if he would dishonor her so as well or if he would force child upon child upon her, if he saw her as a broodmare for which he could act upon his natural impulses. 

“Would you like to dance, my lady.” 

She blinked and realized her husband was speaking to her. “Pardon?” 

“Would you like to dance?” he repeated. 

She looked at him with wide eyes. He seemed sincere, but how was she to know. The Mad King was good in the beginning too and many thought King Rhaegar to be wise as well. She glanced down and saw that he was offering her his hand. Hesitantly, she took it. 

“If it pleases you, my prince.”

His lips twitched downward for a split second, but his expression grew neutral once more and he helped her from her seat and guided her towards the center of the hall. The music shifted slightly, noticing that the couple of the hour had gotten up to dance. Prince Daeron drew her into his arms, one hand in her own and another on her back. Celia stiffened ever so slightly at the feeling of it. They were so close, almost too close to be proper, but he was the groom and a Targaryen. No one would say anything against him. However, Celia could see some of the Riverlords tensing, watching their lord's youngest daughter get pulled into the music as though she wore a chain around her throat. 

Her new husband was warm too, as though his blood were made of fire. She supposed it would be nice then, on cold nights. However, Celia began to wonder if they would even share the same rooms. The Mad King and Queen Rhaella didn’t. To her knowledge, neither did King Rhaegar or Queen Elia. Perhaps he would be a distant husband. She felt calmed by the idea, but then very fearful. What if she bore him a son and he tossed her away? Wasn’t that all they needed her for? To connect them with the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale? Ned’s nephew for her child? Would they let her die on the birthing bed to make it easier? Would—

“You should stop that.”

“What?” Celia looked up at the prince, blinking in confusion. 

“You are thinking too hard,” he replied.

She blinked up at him, her mouth open slightly. 

He glanced away. “Forgive me, perhaps I should not have disturbed your thoughts.”

“Is your mind not filled with thoughts on such an occasion, my prince?” Celia asked. “I believe if there were any days that one is allowed to reflect and overthink, it is on one’s wedding day.” 

“I suppose,” he said with a sigh. “I find my thoughts rather muddled as well. I fear my mind is still too focused on everything that must be done afterward.   
“Is there anything you wished to speak of, my prince?” Celia asked hesitantly. Perhaps there was some way she could make herself useful. She knew that King Rhaegar had only been recently crowned and she had no doubt that her new husband, as the Lord Hand, would have plenty to do. 

“Daeron,” he said. “If I am to know you intimately, you might as well say my name.” 

The almost detached way in which he said it caused Celia to flinch slightly. She opened her mouth to speak when another voice floated into her ear, a whisper of a lady dancing with her partner. 

_When do you think the bedding will be?_

In shock, Celia stepped away from Prince Daeron the second the final note of the song played and Celia dipped into a low curtsy. 

“Forgive me, my prince,” she said. “I need some air.”

“My lady—”

Celia left quickly, trying to keep herself from crying any more than she had during the ceremony. She found herself in a hallway far from the great hall and began to breathe. 

“Celia.”

She turned and saw Jaime standing by her, where he should have always been from the beginning. 

“Jaime,” she said, her voice wavering ever so slightly as she reached for him. 

The knight wrapped his arms around her and then his lips were against her own. Celia melted into his embrace and pressed her lips more firmly to his. It could go no further than a chaste kiss, they could not risk her lips bruising in their want for one another. They needed to be quick too. The Targaryens would not be kind if they were caught in even one of the more innocent of compromised positions. 

“They will call for a bedding,” she whispered as he pulled away, pressing his brow against hers. 

“Don’t,” he choked, holding onto her tightly. 

“They will,” she said. “And what if they demand witnesses?” Celia held onto him, trembling. “I cannot— I don’t want this, Jaime.” 

“I know.” He backed her against the wall and Celia could feel his want between her legs. “I know.” Jaime slid his grip up her arm and held it gently. “If he hurts you, if he ever shames you, I shall kill him myself. I will be no Dragonknight that stands by to do nothing.”

Celia rested her head upon his chest. “We could run away.”

“I would need to prepare, but I know you do not wish for another war, another fight that would cause the death of even more.” He kissed her again and Celia hummed into his lips. “But if he hurts you, I will take you far away where none could find us.”

Celia nuzzled his face with her own. “Why are the gods so cruel? To bring us together so often only to bring us apart?”

“I don’t know,” he breathed, his breath fanning across her skin. “I don’t know.”

—

Daeron was almost shoved into his chambers when the giggling stopped and he glanced over to see Elia standing proudly, glaring at the other women who had been in the process of tearing off the last stitch of clothing he had besides his smallcloth, his trousers. 

“You are dismissed,” she said firmly. The ladies all curtsied and left, giggling as they went to rejoin the feast. Elia then turned her gaze towards him. Daeron bowed “Treat her well, Daeron.” 

He looked up at her, straightening. “I am. I will.” 

His good sister sighed. “Daeron, for all your strength in strategy, you are utterly hopeless when it comes to speaking to strangers. I have no doubt you have already formed a bad impression.”

“I’ve scarcely spoken to her.” 

“You have had ample chances to do so, then.” she said, her lips twitching ever so slightly. She sobered quickly. “She did not ask for this marriage, Daeron.”

“Neither did I,” he countered. 

“No,” she said gently. “You didn’t.” Elia put her hand on his arm. “Even so, the Targaryens have not, in recent years, been known to be very kind to women. Prove her wrong and you may yet have a friend in her, perhaps one that will… be understanding.” 

Daeron looked away, determined not to look her good sister in the eye. “Don’t.” 

“I am speaking to Rhaegar. I am seeing if—”

“Unless you know for certain,” he said. “I don’t wish to know.”

Elia nodded. “Go to her, Daeron, and be the gentle man I know you can be.” 

He watched as she left before taking a deep breath, readying himself. He opened the door and found her sitting on his bed in nothing but her shift.

Damn.

His cock twitched beneath his trousers. He’d been so awestruck by her appearance that his mind had fizzed out like a firework in water. He had thought she was enchanting during the Tourney at Harrenhal as well, but had kept his distance then as well. He had other things to worry about at the time and hadn’t been able to pay much mind to the pretty Tully girl with hair like a flickering flame. 

She was as beautiful as she had been when he first saw her, but he could see the paleness of her skin in the moonlight, the way she was trembling at the sight of him. If he had been aroused, it was flagged at that understanding. 

He bowed to her. “My lady.” 

“My prince.” 

He wished she would say his name. He knew he had said something stupid at the feast, his tone often got him in trouble. His mother had always said he was horrid when it came to expressing himself. But, when a boy wished to steer clear of his father’s wrath, he learned to keep his emotions in check. Emotions only ever led to people getting hurt. 

His new wife stood and gave him a curtsy before pulling her shift over her head.

She was like marble or porcelain. If he handled her wrong, Daeron had no doubt she would break. He kept his eyes upon her face, forcing himself to keep them there. Whether it was to disprove whatever she thought of him or because he did not wish to frighten her, he did not know. 

Daeron stepped forward and he leaned down to press his lips to hers. Celia turned her head so that he kissed her cheek. 

“Please,” she whispered.

He pulled back and saw tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. His heart broke for her. He cupped her jaw in his hands and kissed her tears away. 

“I will try to make it as painless as possible,” he vowed. She nodded as he continued to kiss her neck and pulled her flush to him. His wife trembled against him as she felt his want for her. “I promise.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this new Celiaverse fic!


	2. Jaime I

The first time that Jaime visited the Riverlands, it was just after he had spent four years as a squire and had gained recognition in his abilities as a knight. He had gone chiefly to visit Cersei as he had not seen her in years and had only kept in touch through letters. He had missed his twin greatly, her being the few who understood him, understood his hopes and dreams and his frears. 

Upon meeting with Cersei in one of the cities bordering the Westerlands and the Riverlands, the two spent the morning and early afternoon together, their father begrudgingly allowing it as the two had, again, not seen each other in years. 

“Father is going to attempt to betrothe you,” Cersei said, her arm in his.

“I’m much too young to be thinking of marriage,” Jaime said, although that was not quite true. He was fourteen, soon to be fifteen in a few days time. Marriage was the furthest thing from his mind when he had been a squire. He hadn’t the time to even contemplate his duties as the heir to Casterly Rock, much less the things that the post required. 

“Regardless, that is Father’s intention.” 

“Who is it then that Father wishes to chain me to?” 

Cersei smacked his arm playfully. “It is rude to think of marriage in that way. The girl would also have to put up with you. Surely the Grand Septon would make her some sort of martyr for that ordeal alone.” 

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Well? Who is it?”

“Oh,” Cersei said. “Well, he plans to propose a marriage between yourself and Lord Hoster Tully’s second eldest daughter, Lysa.” 

“And what do you think of her?” Jaime asked. “You have spent time in Riverrun, after all.” 

“Lady Lysa is… well… I do not think she could make you happy and I do not think you could make her happy.” 

“There we go,” Jaime said. “It appears that such a betrothal will not go through. 

“However…”

“However?”

“I think the youngest daughter, Celia, would be a much better match for you.” 

“And how much younger than us is she?” 

“She is our age and I much prefer her over Lysa.” 

“Cersei, this is a woman that I shall be marrying, not you. I believe that you preferring her has very little to do with it.” 

His twin rolled her eyes. “I am being serious, Jaime. I feel that Lady Celia would be a much better match for you. She is sweet tempered and has a good nature. I feel as though she would fit perfectly in Casterly Rock and I would not mind calling her my good sister. I feel like Father might even prefer her, but she is the youngest. Only if you show a preference will Father act.”

“I shall take your preferences into consideration then.” 

Cersei huffed, however, she was completely and utterly correct in her assessment. 

Celia was utterly enchanting, her glow of happiness and her easy laughter. It was as though Jaime had not gone through the hardships of the Kingswood Brotherhood and he was a simple boy again, free of worry and concern. 

“I wish to marry her, Father,” he said after dancing nearly the entire night with her. “I cannot imagine not being at her side.” Jaime paused. “Is this how you felt when you were with Mother?”

His father’s gaze softened, something it hardly ever did. Within the hour, a betrothal had been struck and a kinship between Jaime and his betrothed began to blossom. 

—

Jaime kept his eyes upon Celia at the morning feast after the wedding. He cared not what other duties he was going to attend. He didn’t care if he were too obvious. Plenty knew that he and Celia had once been betrothed. Plenty knew that the Mad King had robbed them of the chance when the man had named him a member of the kingsguard without any possible way of refusing.

They knew, so what else could they possibly expect in his actions. 

Celia wore Targaryen red, her hair styled like those of the married women of the capital, similar to the style of the queen, although many did not have the proper curls to pull off such a look. However, Jaime felt that Celia was beautiful. As beautiful as they day they had met when she had worn a gown of Tully blue and white trim. But her usual brightness was dimmed and Jaime could see the way she held herself was different from usual. 

While Jaime rejoiced in seeing that she seemed to be physically fine, no bruises or cuts upon her face and no exact soreness in how she sat or moved. However, his stomach churned at the knowledge that she was now married to someone else, even when he had shared a last kiss with her less than half a day ago. But now she bore another man’s name and knew another man’s touch. 

It hurt, hurt to know that all that should have been theirs, shared between them in the halls of Casterly Rock, would now be shared with someone who was not him and in a keep that was dangerous and filled with people who would do anything that they could to rise to the top, willing to tear her to shreds if it meant putting themselves in a better position. 

“She’s the prince’s wife, Jaime,” Arthur said, putting his hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “You should not look at her with such want.” 

“And how am I to look at her then?” Jaime asked, without turning his gaze. “As though there is no history between us?” 

“Jaime, that path has long since been closed.”    
“Not by my choice. I never asked for that path to be  _ blocked  _ from me, for that is what it is. It is not that I have shut the door upon that possibility of life, it is that the door in which I had longed to go through was torn off its hinges so that I might never cross through.” 

“Regardless,” Arthur asserted. “She is not a person you can look at in such a way.”    
“Are you not angry?” Jaime asked. “Surely it must boil you to see him married, pledging himself to another when it is your sister he should have been making such vows to.” His mentor’s expression grew ashen. “Surely you must have some reservations and yours are just as reasonable as mine.” 

“No, Jaime,” Arthur said. “They’re not.” 

The younger knight scoffed. “I used to dream to become a knight like you,” Jaime admitted. “But now I can see that you are nothing but a spineless knight who cannot even put his family before himself, his people before his prince.” 

“I swore a vow, Jaime. Just as you did.” 

“My vows were coerced and even I know that vows can be broken, especially when they contradict one another.” 

“And will your vows of love and affection come into conflict with your vows to protect the royal family?” 

“Only if Prince Daeron becomes like his father. Only if.” 

—

He hated that Cersei had to return to Casterly Rock. Their father was once again in a mood as he had not been named Hand of the King, Prince Daeron taking precedence over someone who had taken their time in joining the rebellion and then, confirmed or not, sending someone to kill the queen and her children. Cersei was to return to the Westerland and Jaime’s heart broke for Celia. She knew no one else in the Red Keep besides him. True, she had her uncle, Ser Oswell Whent, but the man was so very distant from everyone, he hadn’t even batted an eye when his niece’s betrothed had been murdered in court by the Mad King. He wished that Cersei could stay, so that Celia would not be alone. 

“I shall write to her often, Jaime,” Cersei said, grasping his hand tightly. “I swear it. And I shall try to convince Father that I would better serve our family here.” 

“He will not let you go,” Jaime groused. “He is as stubborn as a mule and his anger at the Targaryens is too great.” 

Cersei grimaced. “Even so, I will try. Perhaps if I convince him that I will find a suitable, powerful husband he will see that I am better served here.” 

“I have no confidence in such a placement, but I shall beg the gods for it, nonetheless.”

Cersei leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Jaime, I am so very sorry.” She hugged him then. “I know that you do not deserve to be forcing yourself like this. I know that this is unfair. I wish there was more I could do for you. If only I had been born a man. I have no interest in marriage and having a man placed over me. If I had been born a man then I could have taken your place in the Kingsguard and you could have married Celia as you would have wanted.” 

Jaime hugged his sister tightly. She truly was the only person in their family that understood him. Their father expected Jaime to be exactly like him, cruel and calculating, Tyrion looked up to Jaime as though he were the Warrior, fascinated by his actions at the end of the Rebellion. Cersei… Cersei was the only one in their family that seemed to understand that Jaime was not their father, no matter how much they looked similar, and was in now way as resilient as the Warrior when it came to his duties as a knight. She also understood that it was thoughts of Celia that helped him through the lonely nights in the Red Keep where he had been left alone to defend the royal family. 

“I’m sorry, Jaime,” Cersei said, pulling away from him and touching his face. “I’m sorry that you have to be strong for the rest of us.” 

Jaime looked away. He had to be strong now. He could not lean on Cersei like a crutch when it came to his feelings for Celia, his love for her, his want of her. He could not lean on Cersei, not when she would not be here. 

“I will do my best to protect her,” Jaime said softly. “I will keep my emotions in check. I will not… I will push it all down, deep into my heart and bury it until even the seed cannot find any light to grow.” 

“Oh, Jaime,” his sister said softly. 

“I can’t put her in any more danger, can I?” He thought of how little power Queen Rhaella had when her husband thought that she was not faithful when she could not provide him with another living child after Prince Daeron. His anger at the Hand was bubbling under the surface, but he forced it down, pushed it down so that he might not put her in danger. The prince could do what he liked, Targaryens did as they liked all the time. It was the women in their lives who always paid for it and he would not give Daeron any reason to set Celia aside. 

—

Jaime escorted Celia to the gardens where she was to have lunch with Prince Daeron. As she was far above his rank now, he could not even have her hand upon his arm as he walked her to Queen Rhaella’s garden. He cannot hold her, he cannot touch her, he cannot comfort her. The thought of children had come into his mind when he had said his goodbyes to his sister. Celia would be asked to bear the prince’s children. She would be asked to have them and hold them and raise them. It caused his stomach to feel unsettled, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say. 

He could not risk her. They could not risk anything else. Even their kiss in the hall at her wedding feast had been risky. 

Celia turned back to him before he was made to stand at the entrance where she and her new husband might have some semblance of privacy. Her eyes were as filled with pain just as his heart was. 

He bowed his head to her, his heart breaking. For perhaps she would be able to move one, but he… He could not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cersei is not a bad person in this fic and Jaime needs a hug.


	3. Celia I

Her husband had long since fallen asleep after their coupling. He had tended to her afterward and allowed her to dress in her nightgown with his back turned. Although he also dressed in his benefit rather than her own. Then he had urged her to sleep in their shared bed. She had stayed awake, laying in her bed and looking at the canopy, wondering if he might take her again, but he did not touch her again, instead falling asleep quickly, as though he were familiar with falling asleep with a strange person in his bed. 

He had not lied to her when he said he would make their first coupling as painless as possible. Her new husband had touched her with a familiarity to the female form that caused everything to feel wholly practiced from him, but completely alien to her. She had held onto his body during the encounter, her nails digging into his back and her legs wrapped around his hips. 

It had hurt at first, but then she had felt a twisting in her belly that felt good, although she tried to keep as quiet as possible. She was unsure of what she was to do. Her mother had been dead for too long to share with her any of the firm expectations of a wedding night, her septa simply telling her to do as her husband bid. Cat had barely any time to speak with her on it, too busy with her newborn son for Celia to be comfortable asking. 

She had done her duty, nonetheless. She had let her husband spill inside her and touch her and kiss her in ways that no man had ever done before. 

But he had never claimed her lips after they were within the sanctuary of the sept. No, her lips would be Jaimie’s. Even though they would never kiss again, her lips would belong to her gentle lion, the man she had long thought the gods had made for her. Perhaps the New Gods had made him for her, but the Targaryens, with their lust of power and sense of godliness had ordained to take that future away from her. 

Now she was married to Prince Daeron, one of the best swordsmen of Westeros, perhaps just below Ser Arthur Dayne. 

He had scars, her husband. Puckered skin that stained his pale skin like spilt wine upon an ivory dress. Some scars were older, etched into his skin like carved scratches upon stone. It frightened her a bit, the blood on his hands. She had friends who had died during the rebellion. Brothers in all but blood who had kissed her scraped hands when she had attempted to catch up to her older sisters, when she had tried to emulate her father or uncle. Their blood had watered the grounds of the Trident the most, protecting the Riverlands from Targaryen forces as best they could. But they were no match for her husband and the Martell army. 

Now, she had let him spill his seed inside her and there was even a possibility that one had taken root and a child would be had. 

The thought knotted at her stomach. Did the prince even want children? He was the second born son of the previous king with a nephew already. He was a military man who had seemingly had no interest in marriage as far as Celia knew. She wondered if he had been forced into this marriage as well. But it mattered not what he had initially thought. He had made it plain that he did not care for her. 

Celia’s mind turned to Jaime, sweet Jaime. Where had their lives gotten them? 

It did not seem that long ago, for it truly hadn’t been that long, since they had written to one another of their futures together. It had not been that long since they had danced together at Harrenhal, at the tourney where their world had fallen to pieces. 

Jaime, sweet Jaime. 

The gods and Targaryens had taken that future from her. 

Celia turned to her side and looked at her husband’s sleeping form. His back was to her, his hair silver in the moonlight. She prayed to the gods that she could at least try to be true to her husband in her heart, even if it was evident that he did not care for her. 

—

Celia left Jaime at the garden entrance and met with her husband at the small tea table where they were to eat a small, private lunch. Her husband was dressed casually instead of in his more royal or knightly garb. If it were not for his pale hair and violet eyes, he would have looked like a common lord. 

Prince Daeron stood from his seat and took her hand in his and kissed it. “My lady,” he said, his voice deep. “Thank you for joining me. I know you still need to unpack your things.” 

“It is no issue,” she said carefully. “You asked me to share a private meal with you, my prince. Who am I to refuse?” 

An emotion that Celia did not recognize flickered across her husband’s eyes, but it disappeared so quickly and he was already leading her to her seat and helping her to it. When their food was presented to them, they began to eat, but the silence filling the air was almost choking. Celia had heard that her husband enjoyed his silence, but she was uncertain how much silence she should give him. He had asked her to lunch, so should he not be the one to begin a conversation? She was not sure. Her rank was so far below his that she could not even begin to think of what she might say to him. 

When she could take it no longer, Celia set down her utensils. “I hear you are quite fond of Dorne,” she said carefully. Yes, she had heard that. Something a servant had said when they were unpacking her things. He paused in his eating, not looking up at her. “I have always thought Dorne to be a fascinating kingdom, although I have never been. Perhaps we might visit once things have been better settled.” 

Her husband took a long drink from his wine. “I do not think we will be traveling to Dorne any time soon,” he said, his voice a little harsh. An obvious period to any further statement or question she might have of the southron kingdom. “My brother has need of me here and you are not to leave the capital without my escort.” 

“Because I am a tribute of war?” she asked. 

Her husband’s gaze turned sharply to her and Celia stiffened against it. He did not look angry, but he did not look surprised either, his eyes searching and calculating. He opened his mouth to speak when eyes shifted to the side of her and he stood. Celia turned her head and saw that the king had entered the garden. 

She stood as well, curtsying as he drew near. “Your grace.”

He waved off her greeting and kept his gaze on her husband, his brother. “I see you to be slacking.” 

Her husband’s jaw clenched and Celia trembled slightly, there was a deep rooted anger in Prince Daeron’s eyes as he looked upon the king. “The war has barely been won,” he said stiffly. “Can I not simply have lunch with my wife, the one you have decided for me, before I am made to fix this mess that you have made for our family?”

“If you have time to spare,” the king said. “Take her to your chambers and get her with child.”

“Brother,” her husband growled. 

“A girl would be preferable. I am in no need of another boy.” 

“Rhaegar!” Prince Daeron pounded his fist upon the small table and Celia cried out in shock as the table fell, the content falling upon the ground. 

The king’s eyes were cold and dull. “A girl, Daeron. If you have the time to eat, you have the time to fuck. Get a girl on her and you can do as you wish.” 

Jaime had rushed into the garden, his hand on his sword. Rheagar walked past him, ignoring his threat of the same sword that had taken his father’s life. 

Celia’s husband looked at her and then looked away. “Take my wife back to her rooms,” he ordered.

“Yes, your grace,” Jaime said, putting his hand against her back to guide her.

As they left the gardens, they heard another crash and another shout of anger. “Damn it!” 

—

After her husband’s outburst, Celia did not see him for the rest of the day. Instead, she was invited to visit with the queen and her gathering of ladies. Cersei had already left the capital and Celia was without a friend at court. She knew none of the ladies personally, only by name, house, and reputation. They were all from families who had sided with the Targaryens during the rebellion and she was the only one there who had been on the side of the rebels. They all knew it and Celia knew how terribly out of place she was.

Even her fashion was far different from that of the other ladies. 

They wore silks and laces and their dresses were very much inspired by the Dornish dress. The bright colors and rich, intricate designs upon the fabric were beautiful and bright and becoming. Celia, on the other hand, wore clothes more befitting Riverrun. Her dresses were of a darker color, of deep blues and greens, long sleeves that draped against her dress and a stiff collar that only gave away her form, but not her precise shape. Her wedding dress had been distinctly more Westerland too. She wondered if anyone had noticed that. 

“How are you enjoying the capital?” Queen Elia asked. 

“It is lovely, your grace,” Celia said, bowing her head. 

“Please,” she said. “Call me Elia. We are sisters now.” 

Celia’s lips stretched into a thin line. “Of course.” 

She was thankful for the queen’s attempt at including her within the conversation, but then it would soon flow into another subject that Celia was unfamiliar with. All of these ladies had known each other for years, possibly ever since girlhood. She was a stranger amongst them whose family had, till only recently, been on the opposite sides of the battlefield. 

She felt completely and utterly alone. 

—

She wondered if her husband had taken his brother’s words to heart, or if he had planned on taking his right as a husband that night anyway. Once more, she had kept her lips from him, but that did not stop them from kissing her elsewhere, setting her body aflame with every ever kiss and touch.

He had not forced himself upon her, instead asking if she wished for him to take her to their marriage bed again. Celia had said yes hesitantly, although she felt that he would not make her do anything she did not wish, the evidence being that he did not attempt to kiss her that night. 

He took her gently, even though she was still a little sore from the previous night. 

And, just as before, when he was finished he let her dress privately as he did as well and welcomed her back to bed before falling into a deep sleep. 

It was lonely, the feeling of being unwanted by the man you had given everything too, even if it was not the man you had desired. 


	4. Daeron I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk of suicide in this chapter. Mainly centered around Ashara.

She was standing before him, beautiful as she had been since their childhood. Hair as dark as night and eyes as vibrant as the evening sky, a darkening violet that could almost be mistaken for blue in the wrong lighting. 

Daeron was pleading with her, pleading for her to stay, pleading for her not to leave, begging for her to understand. 

He loved her. He loved her. He truly did, but he could not stop what was to come and, no matter how much he longed to take responsibility, he was not allowed to. 

“But you don’t,” she said. “You don’t want me.”

“I do,” he begged. He wanted to protect her. She was his friend. His first friend. “Ashara, please.”

“Take care of him.” Ashara was gone, over the edge, a helpless cry coming from behind him.

Daeron awoke suddenly in his bed, the moon high in the sky and the shadows cast long against the yellowed stone. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. A dream. It was just a dream. He hadn’t even been there when she had tossed herself from the tower of Starfall.

He had been at the Battle of Dragonstone, trying to get to his mother, younger brother and newborn sister. He had only heard of her death afterwards, when Rhaegar decided to tell him he was to marry Celia Tully. 

Daeron turned his gaze towards his wife, her back to him.

She had changed into her black shift, the collar slipping down her arm, her creamy skin, glowing ever so slightly in the light, her hair like a river of copper upon their bed. Beautiful, lovely, his. Yet, he had no right to her other than his title as her husband and prince. He had heard of her betrothal to Ser Jaime Lannister and he was not so much of a greenboy to not feel a murderous gaze upon him on occasion. The woman who shared his bed no doubt hated him and he mourned the fact that she would perhaps resent him forever. 

It did not help that he fumbled with his words, the residual effects of his stuttering from his youth, something his father made sure he was properly reprimanded for by his tutors. Then there was, of course, his mother teaching it was better to say nothing and observe. Now… Now he did not know how to speak to those who did not know him, who had not been around him for long. 

Daeron sat up and pulled her dipping collar further up her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He slid out of their bed and opened the door to the balcony and closed it behind him, not wishing to wake her. He leaned against the railing and sighed, looking south towards Dorne. 

Rhaeger was insistent that he and his new wife had a daughter as soon as possible. 

Perhaps… If he did as Rhaegar asked… Perhaps his brother would allow Daeron to go to Starfall. Perhaps he would allow Daeron to raise his child in the Red Keep.

—

“Get up,” Daeron said, pouring cold water upon his brother’s face as he remained in bed. He was Rhaegar’s Hand and he would do as he liked to ensure that his brother was on time for the coming day. It annoyed him to no end, that he had to leave before his wife had woken up. 

Misunderstanding upon misunderstanding, he had no doubt. He wanted to make it right, but doing so would mean admitting to his child, admitting that he had a bastard, a bastard he wanted to do right by. What good woman would wish to have their husband’s bastard underfoot?

Rhaeger glared at Daeron and ran his fingers through his hair. His features were more like their mother, while Daeron took after their father. However, their personalities were opposite. Daeron thought about his actions, Rhaegar didn’t care, pushing and pulling, thinking no matter what he did he would come on top in the end, a dragon for all to see. 

“You can act in my place if you need to, Daeron,” his brother said. “Let me sleep. I am in mourning.”

“All the Seven Kingdoms are in mourning,” Daeron replied harshly. “Because of your actions many good men are dead, this is your fault for not keeping your cock in your trousers. If you are angry at being forced to take up your duties as king, you should have bloody done what you could during Harrenhal to gain support. Instead, you began a conflict between our house and the Baratheons and Starks. 

“I crowned Lyanna as—”

“As a possible mistress,” Daeron growled. “Do you really think our father would have let you marry her? A Valyrian wife, that is what he wanted for us. She would have been nothing but a mistress and even if she were not Lyanna Stark, you would have ruined her, she would be unable to depend on anyone but you.”

“I loved her!” Rhaegar stood, threatening.

“And that love killed her!” Daeron shouted back. “She was a _child_ and you couldn’t keep your cock to yourself. She died because she wasn’t ready for children and you left her with a bunch of celibate men and a novice maester who hadn’t earned a proper chain yet!”

“And you left the Lady Ashara to die.” Rhaegar looked up at him and must have seen something in Daeron’s expression. “Well, you didn’t just let her die, did you?”

“Stop it,” Daeron said quietly. 

“If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive wouldn’t she?”

Daeron grabbed his brother by the collar. “If y-you say one more th-thing about Ashara, I swear Jaime Lannister won’t be the o-one you and your reign should be afraid of.” 

Rhaegar pushed Daeron’s hand off him. “Put a daughter in your wife,” Rhaeger ordered. “If you do, I’ll have Lord Dayne send your child to you.” 

His brother walked past him to ready for the rest of the day, leaving Daeron to grit his teeth in anger for not being able to say otherwise. 

—

Daeron felt like a little boy again standing in front of his mother ready for reprimand. He was standing before his good sister, but the feeling was the same. He could feel Elia’s disappointment in him. She had no doubt mastered the neutral face of disappointment from being raised around Oberyn, and by being married to Daeron’s brother, and by simply watching him fumble on a near daily basis. 

“Daeron,” she warned carefully. “I told you to not mess this up.” 

“It’s not my fault,” he said, holding his hands behind his back and trying desperately not to fidget too badly. “Rhaegar… I was trying to have lunch with my wife so that we could speak properly without being in front of an audience.” Although he had truly messed things up before Rhaegar had made his appearance. “And then my brother arrived and all ordered she and I to not waste time speaking and… Well…” Daeron blushed. “He told us we should spend time abed so that she might get with child more quickly.” 

Elia sighed. “And I suppose he promised that you could bring the babe to the Red Keep if you did so?”

Daeron nodded. He had never even gotten the chance to hold his child. “They needs me. I know Lord Dayne is caring for them because he is Ashara’s child, but… He blames me for what… He blames me for Ashara.”

“Daeron,” Elia said gently. “It is not your fault that Ashara decided to throw herself from the tower.”

“It is though,” he said softly. “I killed Ser Ben Wode. She loved him and I killed him.”

“It was war, Daeron,” Elia stood and put her hand on his shoulder. “He had thrown his lot with the rebels, no matter how justified they were in their anger.”

“But I knew that he was the man who held her attention and I killed him still.”

“He would have killed you if he had the chance.” Daeron looked away, unable to look her in the eye. Elia sighed gently and cupped his face in her hands. “He would have killed you and for all we know you are the only reason Viserys and Dany made it out of Dragonstone alive.”

Daeron closed his eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Because of me, my child lost their mother. I should have…”

“She chose to jump from Starfall,” Elia said, making him look at her. “Ashara chose to die because she could not live with the fact that Ser Ben died, she chose to leave her child and you cannot blame yourself for her choice.”

“I ll-oved her, Elia,” he whimpered. “Maybe not as Ser Ben did, but that day in Harrenhal… I d-don’t… I don’t regret it. I th-thought she didn’t either…”

“She didn’t,” his good sister assured him. “She told me so herself. But she didn’t want to be a mother, not when she grew to love Ser Ben after.” Elia wiped a tear from his cheek. “You aren’t angry at Rhaegar, Daeron, at least not completely. You’re angry at Ashara for leaving as she did and that’s okay.” 

She let go of him as he lifted his hand to press it against his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “She was your f-friend too, I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t make it about me.” 

Elia wrapped her arms around him, and stroked his hair as he slowly broke down into a broken sob. 

—

Daeron was emotionally exhausted. 

He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to fall asleep and do so for days, but tomorrow he would have to push forward and handle the realm as his brother did all that he could to be liked rather than act as a proper king. 

Daeron was already dressed for bed when his wife entered. She was beautiful, dressed in blac and red, her hair like fire, a color better suited to the name Targaryen than his family’s own. Gods, he had been an utter wreck at Harrenhal. Seeing her and being unable to bring himself to speak with her or ask her to dance. So, he had drunk all he could logically drink, as had Ashara. They had both been foolish for multiple reasons, but he didn’t regret that his first time had been with his best friend. But then the war came and then he had killed Ser Ben at the Battle of the Trident. The man his best friend loved. Now… Now his child would never know their mother and Rhaegar kept everything from him to the point that he stopped letters coming from Starfall so Daeron didn’t even know if he had a son or a daughter. He simply didn’t know. 

He turned to look at his wife and did not regret his attraction to her led to him having a child. He almost wanted to laugh. How was he ever going to explain that. She was a woman betrothed at the time. Would she hate him? Would she think his father ended her engagement to Ser Jaime because his father wanted Daeron’s supposed rival out of the way? That wasn’t the case at all, but he would not begrudge her for thinking that way. 

“Are you to take me to bed, my prince?” she asked gently.   
“Daeron,” he corrected. 

Her lips formed a tight line. “And are you to take me to our marriage bed? I know the king wishes for us to be with child quickly. 

“Hang the king,” Daeron said sharply.

Celia stiffened at his words and he deflated slightly. Gods, he was horrible. 

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said carefully. “It has been a busy day.” 

She stepped towards him, taking his hands in her own and then set them upon her hips. “Shall I let you ease your burdens?”

He wanted love, not duty. He wanted someone to choose him. He wished for someone to put him first. “Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight we can just sleep.” 

“Do you not want me, my prince?”

He could not look her in the eyes, his hands flexing slightly on her hips. He did. He did, but not tonight, not when he was so tired. 

“Forgive me, my lady,” he began. “I—”

She pulled away from him before he could continue. Celia curtsied. “I shall go to my private room for the night.”

“My lady—”

“Goodnight, your grace,” she said, straightening and all but fleeing his presence. 

Daeron watched her as she went and he groaned, falling back upon his bed, the heels of his palms on his eyes. 

“Idiot.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I left the child’s gender ambiguous because I’m still deciding on if it’s a boy or a girl.
> 
> Daeron’s sense of self-worth will be a big thing in this fic.
> 
> Listen... House Wode’s sigil is three white hedgehogs on a yellow field and their moto is “touch me not” I LOVE it!


	5. Jaime II

Jaime was surprised that he was ordered to escort Celia to the king’s solar to break her fast with the royal family. Instead of her shared chamber with her new husband, Jaime had been told to fetch her from her more private rooms. 

He was ashamed to think it, but he felt relief at the thought that Celia and the prince might not have spent the night together. He felt happy that she was not his for another night, that the prince did not get to share her warmth, that he was the first person to see her that day outside of the servants. 

He knocked on her door and waited. She opened the door and smiled when she saw it was him. Celia was beautiful, as always, her red hair vibrant and loose, begging for his fingers to glide through it as he brought her towards him for a kiss. However, he knew that he needed to refrain from doing so. She wore a blue gown of Dornish silk, although the cut was more like those of her Riverland roots. Targaryen red embroidery decorated the skirt and the sleeves like weirwood leaves. 

Jaime took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You look ravaging today, my lady,” he said earnestly. 

Celia laughed, the sound like utter music to his ears. “You are too easy to please, Ser.”

“Only if it is you.” He wished to say more. Ravish her with his words and claim her lips which had been neglected for what felt like ages, but he could not risk her. “Are you ready to break your fast, my lady?” he asked. 

She smiled and took the arm he then offered. “Absolutely starving,” she said with a smile. “Lead the way, Ser.”

Jaime smiled after her, almost grinning. He could not help it. If he but closed his eyes he could pretend that she was his wife instead of the prince and that he was leading her to their shared solar. 

However, he felt as though there were some tension in her body, as though she were resisting their course towards the king’s solar. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked as he paused in the hall. “Are you unwell? Shall I just take you back to your private chambers?”

“No,” she said gently. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem well, Celia.”

She shook her head. “Truly,” she insisted. “I’m fine. I simply… My pride was merely wounded last night, but there is no need for you to risk the ire of the king.”

Jaime’s lips formed a thin line. “Celia…”

She squeezed his arm and smiled. “I’m fine,” she said again. “I’m fine.”

Jaime kissed her hand again and wish there was more that he could do. 

—

Arthur took Jaime to spar before their midday meal. 

Once, when Jaime was a boy, he would have been struck by his fortune to be sparring with the greatest swordsman of the Seven Kingdoms, but now the sensation was like ashes in his mouth. There was no thrill in it. There was no excitement in the build up as they practiced at first, trading practiced blows that they didn’t follow through with. 

“You need to keep a level head, Jaime,” the Dornish knight said. “She is the prince’s wife now.”

“You would not understand,” Jaime snapped. 

“I was your age once too,” Arthur said. “I know what it is like to long for a woman. But we took vows—”

“Which I took forcefully.” The blow Jaime sent landed harder than it should and he could see Arthur tense against the way he blocked it. “I should have been hers,” he said. “She should have been mine.”

“It matters not what could or should have been,” Arthur said. 

“That is easy for you to say,” Jaime sneered. “You’ve never had to experience being so close to being whole and then having it all ripped away.”

“I know what it is like to lose someone, Jaime,” Arthur said darkly. 

“No, you do not know the loss I feel,” he snarled. “You do not know what it is like to have her near and know that I can never touch her. To have her near and know that I can never be hers, that I cannot proudly be with her for all to see and love her as I do desire. You know nothing of that pain because you have never loved anyone to that extent.”

“You do not know me, Jaime Lannister,” Arthur warned. 

“No,” he agreed. “I thought you were the noblest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms, instead you stood by as your prince fuck a girl as a rebellion raged because the king couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“Jaime!” Arthur shouted, grabbing him by the collar. “You speak of treason.”

The younger knight pushed him off him. “No, treason is allowing an innocent man to burn and another to strangle himself because the king was too much of a coward to do things in public.” He sheathed his sword and turned away, storming from the practice field in an utter rage. 

—

_ Kingslayer.  _

_ Oathbreaker.  _

_ Man without honor.  _

The titles follow where he went. He could hear the whispers as he marched through the halls, intent on putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as possible. He was so angry, so very angry. 

He was the reason Rhaegar had become a king so soon. He was the reason that King’s Landing wasn’t burned. He was the reason these people were not ashes upon the wind as the keep and city itself crumbled into oblivion. 

But who was crowned the hero of King’s Landing? King Rhaegar and his brother Prince Daeron. 

Jaime had not killed the king for honor. He had killed the king because he was frightened of what would happen, because he wished for his father to live, for the people he had grown up with to live. Yet, he had not asked for derision. He had not asked for any of this, any of his treatment.

He had not asked for this. 

—

It was obvious that Arthur and Selmy see intent on punishing him, have him learn his place, remind him that he was the lowest and most inexperienced of them all. 

Jaime stood guard outside Prince Daeron’s chambers, listening as he took his husbandly rights with Celia. 

He listened to her moans and pants and his grunts and Jaime clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes. If he heard him hurt her, he would not hesitate to kill the prince, not hesitate to take her away. 

But for now, all he could do was wallow and push away the dreams of what could have been. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize how late this chapter is, and for a filler one at that. I MIGHT be able to post another chapter tomorrow though.


	6. Celia II

Celia slid off the bed, waiting for her husband to ask her to stay. Not because she particularly wanted to, but because it meant he wanted her, that she was worth more than the child he was trying to put inside her. 

Daeron has been gentle like usual, kind and thoughtful in his touches and thrusts. In that, at least, she felt secure. But it was not the untapped passion that she felt when Jaime had kissed her. No, there was no passion at all. Celia’s husband was restrained and almost unfeeling. If not for the fact that he spilled in her, she questioned whether her husband found their coupling enjoyable at all. 

When Daeron said nothing to keep her, she picked up her shift and slid it over her body, the silk whispering against her skin as she made her way to the personal door that connected to their shared solar. She padded to her own room and sighed once she reached it. She sighed again once she slid under the covers. 

This is not what marriage would have been like if Jaime had been her husband. She would have fallen asleep in his arms with his lips pressed against the back of her neck. They would have attempted to have a child more than once a night. 

This marriage was lonely. She felt lost and adrift. Her eldest sister was North, her other sister was in the Vale, her brother was in the Riverlands, Cersei had gone back to Casterly. She felt so very alone. She had no allies save for Jaime and his father, but even that was questionable as the Lannisters had lost so much favor in court that they were not even allowed near the council chamber. 

She was a girl whose family had fought upon the losing side. How was she to find a place in this keep or her husband’s house if she could feel no place within it. 

Celia slid her hand over her stomach. She prayed she would get with child soon, preferably a girl so that the king would cease speaking to them of it. And then perhaps a son soon after so that her husband had an heir of his own. She had yet to see her husband with his niece and nephew and wondered if he were even good with children. Even so, she hoped that her husband would love the child and give them the same amount of love and support her own father had given her when she was younger. 

If her husband could not love her as a husband ought to love his wife, then she hoped that he might love her as the mother of his children. Celia hopes that she would be allowed to earn his love and respect in that way. For if he grew tired of her and set her aside for another, for a lover who would give him children… then she would have lost everything—her family, her honor, Jaime—and gained nothing. 

—

“Thank you for agreeing to have tea with me, my dear,” Lord Tywin said as he sat down at the small table. 

“There is no need for gratitude, my lord,” she said. “You have been a great friend to me and I miss our talks greatly.”

“As do I, especially when we would play cyvasse.”

Celia smiled at the man who would have once been her good father. “Perhaps next time I shall have a set be brought.”

“That would please me greatly. I fear that my children do not prefer the game unless there is gold involved.”

“I am sure it is because they are Lannisters.”

The Old Lion chuckled before taking a sip from his tea. His appearance had grown more ragged since she had last seen him before the wedding. His age seemed to have caught up to him and it was as though the world rested upon his shoulders. Celia wished there was a way for him to be better cared for, but Tyrion was still young and reckless and Cersei was now in a precarious position with her father steadily losing power in Westeros. She needed to be guaranteed a safe marriage and there was only so much Celia could do when they were in different parts of Westeros. 

“However, my dear, I did not ask you to have tea with me because I missed you,” Lord Tywin admitted. 

“Oh?” she asked. “To what did I owe the pleasure then?”

The Lannister patriarch bowed his head. “I would like to apologize that I did not fight harder against Jaime’s recruitment into the Kingsguard.”

“My lord, it was King Aerys’ decision.” She reached out and set her hand over his own. “There was only so much anyone could do at that tourney.”

“It does not mean I do not feel guilty for it,” Lord Tywin admitted. 

“Well, you shouldn’t. None were capable of dissuading the king once he made up his mind.” She squeezes his hand gently. “None of us could have possibly known what was going to happen.”

He squeezed her hand back before withdrawing his own. “You would have been a wonderful lady of Casterly Rock,” he said simply, and she knew it was the greatest compliment that he could ever give her. “You would have done House Lannister proud.”

Celia smiled at him as tears began to catch upon her lashes. “You speak of me too highly, my lord.”

The older man shook his head. “If the dragons do not know the treasure they have picked up then may the gods make them pay for it.”

“That is treason, my lord.”

“Perhaps. However, I cannot help but resent the fact that they have denied my son his only happiness.” Celia blushed. “I pray that the Targaryen boy is worthy of you, gods know that very few would be.”

“You speak of me too kindly, my lord.”

“My dear,  _ kind  _ is the last word many would use to describe me or my words. If I speak kindly then it is because you have the merit to earn such kind judgment. Do not allow anyone to make you feel differently.”

—

After the midday meal, Celia was invited by the queen to have tea with her and Celia hardly had any right to refuse her. 

Celia greatly admires the queen and thought the woman was wise and just and that the kingdom was better for it. However, Celia was so far below her in rank and her family had fought against the queen’s own. 

“Thank you for joining me,” the queen said after Celia curtsied. 

“It is an honor to be asked to share tea with you, your grace.”

“Elia,” the older woman reminded her. She motioned for Celia to sit down and she did so. “There were a few things I wished to discuss and I truly wish I had the time to do so before you had officially married into this house. The dragons can be rather… difficult, some more than most.”

Celia drank her tea quietly. Was this some sort of test? To see if she were loyal to her husband? “Prince Daeron has been very kind to me, your—Elia.”

The queen snorted. “I am under no delusion that my good brother has no doubt already messed up his relation to you. You need not cover for him, my dear. I am well aware of his faults, as is he.”

Celia set her cup down and fiddled with her skit. “The king wishes for me to be with child soon.”

Elia sighed. “My husband wishes for another girl. For what reason? I have no idea. However, do not feel rushed. You are rather young and you have time to develop your relationship with Daeron before you become parents.”

“I do not think he wishes to develop one,” she said plainly. “He appears completely disinterested.”

“I cannot speak on everything, Celia,” she said. “For some of it is for him to tell you. However, I promise that he does wish to make this marriage work. He has simply been preoccupied with other things. Daeron learned rather distressing news prior to your marriage announcement.”

“It matters not what news he had received, it gives him no right to treat me so cruelly.”

“ _ Cruelly? _ ” Elia asked, truly surprised. “Has he treated you harshly?”

“Not…” Celia sighed. “He has not harmed me, but his lack of care for my feelings and his disregard for conversation has me feeling neglected. It is not my fault that we married. I had less say on the matter when he truly could have done more to deny the marriage if he truly wished to.”

“My dear, I promise you that Daeron had very little choice in the matter.”

“And I had even less,” Celia said firmly. “My family fought against the crown and I am intimately connected with the other houses of the rebellion because of my sisters and their husbands. I am a hostage to ensure that the Riverlands stay in check as well as the North and the Vale because of my sisters.” And the Westerlands. They had so little power now, but Jaime and Cersei would never allow her to be placed in harm's way. 

“I understand that you feel displaced, Celia,” the queen began. “However—”

“Forgive me, Elia, but you are the queen,” Celia said harshly, perhaps more than she meant to. “The people prefer you far more than they prefer your husband and you are the mother of the next king. Not only that, you have family here that carries a lot of political weight in a way that I could only wish to. Your place in history and society is completely and utterly secure. My place is dictated by well I can please a husband who is determined to never even consider the thought of it. It is obvious to everyone that my husband does not care for me and I am left open to everyone’s judgment and derision because of it.”

“You shall have my protection,” Elia said, reaching out and putting a delicate hand on Celia’s shoulder. “I promise that Daeron is trying and I shall speak to him again to try harder. However, I promise he has his reasons for being so unfocused.”

Celia bit her lip and said nothing. His reasons mattered not. He left her open to ridicule and seemed not to care as she grew melee and more isolated from court life by the day, by the hour. 

—

Celia was being led to supper on the arm of Ser Arthur Dayne. She knew that Jaime had once looked up to the knight, however it was obvious to everyone that such a relationship had soured after the rebellion. 

Celia, herself, had very little opinion of the man save for his renowned sword skills. He was handsome, she supposed, but not as much as Jaime was. 

“Honestly,” she heard a woman say down a hall that she and Ser Arthur passed. “It would have been better if Prince Daeron had married Lady Ashara.”

The knight beside her tensed as Celia paused. She turned to glance down the hallway, but could not recognize the two women speaking. They were too far and their voices were simply carrying down the empty chamber. 

“If she had not died, I am sure that he would have married her,” said the other. “She is better suited to the prince than the Tully girl is. No doubt she would be able to keep him to her bed more easily.”

“Do you think he has strayed so soon into their marriage?”

“I have no doubt. His brother strayed even with the queen and she is perfect and the marriage was arranged. I would not be surprised if we heard word of another royal bastard soon.”

Celia paled at the thought. She had no child to cement herself yet. If her husband had a bastard, a son, with no legitimate heir of his own yet…

“My lady,” Ser Arthur said quickly, pulling her along. “We must make haste. We do not wish to keep the king waiting.”

She followed him along mutely. 

She remembered Ashara, her beauty and grace. Her bright violet eyes and dark hair and dainty features. She was perfect in comparison to Celia’s own looks. She was built like a boy, especially in the dresses she wore. 

What if what she heard were true? 

What if her husband had been in love with Ashara?

What if his heart belonged to another just as hers did?

What if she had no hope of winning her husband’s favor because she would forever be compared to a beautiful ghost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people might be a little confused on why Celia wants Daeron to like her since she still has feelings for Jaime.   
> Well, it’s because she is in a patriarchal society. If your husband (especially a royal husband) is indifferent to you and you have no strong allies in court then you can basically do nothing. Daeron isn’t doing the best job at helping his wife navigate her new surroundings and Celia is right, she is honestly a glorified hostage


	7. Daeron II

_ Dearest Daeron, _

_ I have finally been able to write to you properly. My brother said that I shouldn’t as the king would have tossed it aside before you were able to read it. However, upon hearing of your marriage and all of it, I felt that perhaps I would be allowed to write. In truth, I have written this letter time and time again, trying to find the right words.  _

_ A part of me wishes to hate you. I want to hate you so badly because there is no one left to hate. Who else can I hate but you?  _

_ I want to be angry at Ashara for what she did. I want to be angry at her selfishness. I want to be angry that she could do this to any of us. But she always felt so very deeply and once she made a decision, there was no talking her out of it. For better or for worse.  _

_ Her name is Naerys. The baby’s, I mean. That is what Ashara named her. I told her that, perhaps, we could name her after our mother, but she was against it. She always planned on relinquishing the sweet babe to you. Ashara thought it best that Naerys have nothing connecting her to Dorne save for the name Sand.  _

_ She… Ashara was never meant to be a mother. She loved children dearly, but she was not meant to be a mother, not meant to have a child of her own. I think it’s why she did not think one moment of her daughter when she leapt from the tower. My only relief is that she had not taken the child with her as a way to harm you. For that, at least, I can be thankful.  _

_ Naerys needs her father, Daeron. And I pray that you will be able to be with her soon. She is adorable, Daeron, and I know that you would love her with your whole heart. Her hair is a dark sort of honey gold and her eyes are the color of irises. And her nose, by all the gods. Her cheeks as well. She is such a cheerful and happy baby that any might find joy in her presence.  _

_ I pray that you will be able to send for her soon and that you might hold her in your arms as well. I await the day that you two might meet. Too many were unable to return home after the rebellion. Too many were never able to reunite in this life. I can at least pray that your family might be able to come together where others can’t.  _

_ Your loving friend,  _

_ Allyria _

_ Naerys.  _ His daughter’s name was Naerys. 

He had a daughter. 

Daeron sat down upon his chair and prayed that he might be able to make this right, that he might be able to protect his daughter when her mother no longer could. 

—

His wife was distancing herself from him. At least more than she had been previously. It was lonely, but he did not wish to force his presence upon her when it was not necessary. 

Even though he had not asked for this marriage directly, she had been the one who was forced to move into a keep full of people who had been enemies up until a few months or so ago. He did not wish to force her to spend time with him when she did not wish to. He wanted to give her some space. 

But now it felt as though she were avoiding him now more than ever. Whenever they saw each other, whether at meals or in their chambers, his wife had a mask of indifference upon her. He wanted to speak to her and ask what the issue was, how he might make it better. 

_ W–what can I d–do? _

He winced when she had looked back at him in confusion. He had not spoken loudly and his volume had decreased the second he stuttered. He had waved it off as his words not being important but he had found himself depressed for the rest of the day. It was one of those days that he wished he could speak as eloquently as his brother did. He wishes that he could speak his heart and mind without incident. 

Now, he was standing before his good sister feeling like a little boy waiting to be reprimanded by his mother. She looked exhausted. Rhaenys and Aegon were growing rapidly and Elia was still dealing with Ashara’s death as well. Now she had to worry about him as well. 

“You need to speak with her, Daeron.”

“I’m t–trying.”

“Not hard enough. There is only so much I can do around the ladies circles if you do not show her any favor.”

“I d–don’t wish to f–force myself on her.”

Elia sighed, leaning against her hand and closing her eyes. Daeron knew that he was annoying her, knew that he was acting like a child but the last thing he wanted to do was make his wife dislike him anymore than she was already determined to. 

“Speak to her.”

He wanted to. By all the gods he wanted to, but he did not wish to look like a fool in front of her. Many ladies in his youth were attracted to him because of his close appearance to Rhaegar and they thought his quiet nature hid something dark and mysterious, but on the occasion that he spoke and his stutter slithered out from his tongue he would watch as disappointment flickered across their features.

He did not wish to see that look in his wife’s. He did not think he could survive it. 

“If you cannot bring yourself to speak, then write to her. Let her know your thoughts if you will not share them aloud. She is a sweet girl and she has so few allies as it is. Do not reduce her numbers any more than they are.”

—

Rhaegar was determined to be liked. 

Daeron knew it was an issue ever since they were children. His brother could not handle being disliked, could not handle people thinking badly of him. Yet, he also felt he could do no wrong, as though his actions were blessed by the gods and he did not care about the damage left in his wake unless it meant that he would not be liked. 

It was why his brother was holding yet another feast. Keep the lords and ladies full of drink and then would be happy. Daeron had spoken against it, not wishing for the crown to continue to spend money when they did not have enough as it was. The rebellion and their father had not kept a tight budget and the master of coin, Lord Mace Tyrell was an idiot. He was like minded in the king’s wish to be well liked and he could not say no to Daeron’s brother. The Reachlord no doubt wished to curry favor. He had a daughter around Aegon’s age as well. 

By all the gods, Daeron’s brother surrounded himself with people who could not say no to him. Daeron did his best, but his brother already had so little interest in what he said or did. Elia spoke to him at length, but he brushed her concerns aside as well. 

If it were not treason, he would strangle his brother constantly. 

“How is Lady Cersei, my lord?”

Daeron was brought from his thoughts at his wife’s voice. He glanced over and saw that she was speaking with Lord Tywin Lannister. 

“She is well,” the lord replied. “She misses you, of course and sends her well wishes from Casterly Rock. I shall soon return myself. Is there any message you would like for me to give her in person?”

Daeron’s wife smiled then, a true and gentle smile that made her glow in its beauty. “Give her my love and tell her that I miss her presence. Tell her that I demand we exchange letters more often.”

The Old Lion chuckled. “Of course. I know she no doubt feels the same way.”

Celia did not attempt to speak with anyone else at the feast and no one else attempted to speak to her save Elia, who was called away quickly to be with her children. 

Daeron wished to speak to her, but his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He would embarrass himself and her if he did not speak fluently. 

He would ask Lord Lannister before he left if his daughter could come to serve under Celia. They seemed to be friends. Perhaps that might make her smile more often. Even if she did not thank him for it, for there was no need to, at least she would have a friend by her side.

—

He thought long and hard about Elia’s words. If he could not speak his thoughts, then he should write them. 

~~_ Dearest Celia, _ ~~

_ My dear wife, _

_ I confess I am not certain how you would wish for me to address you in as intimate a setting as a letter. I was not sure if my introduction would be seen as being too forward. My greatest fear is disrespecting you and causing you to feel disappointment in me and our marriage.  _

_ I know you did not ask for this. I know that your heart belongs to another and that you merely tolerate my presence because I am your husband and it is expected of you. But I pray that, one day, you find it in your heart to trust me with it and to keep it safe.  _

_ There is a story I would like to tell you, a story that I have kept close to my own heart of fear that you will resent me for it. I swear to you that no one fully comprehends the goings on inside my mind for I so rarely share it and the ones who knew it best are gone from this world, one by their own design and the other by the will of the gods.  _

_ I first saw you at Harrenhal. You wore a dress of green and gold, as though you were the embodiment of spring and loveliness. You were a vision and a delight to everyone around you. I cannot fault you if you do not remember me. I had attempted to speak with you on multiple occasions but found myself unable to, due to prior commitments, the events of the tourney, and because I am a fool and a coward.  _

_ You were a girl betrothed to another man and I would not risk your reputation and sully your name by burdening you with my affections and so I drank. I drank in excess and made a private fool of myself before someone who did not care for me beyond friendship. _

_ I thought of you often, even when I returned to the Red Keep. In truth I had spoken to my father at length in relinquishing Ser Jaime Lannister from his vows. He was younger than most who had sworn their lives to the white cloak and I had hoped to win your favor in that at least, to restore your happiness to you, even if my I comment was never acknowledged.  _

_ I thought of you during the rebellion. I prayed for you and your loved ones’ safety. I prayed for your happiness even as I fought for my house which did not deserve my loyalty. But I had my niece and nephew and their mother to worry about. I cannot be regretful of what I was made to do in order to protect them, although it came at a great cost. A cost I fear you will hate me for.  _

_ I am no poet or great romancer. But I swear to you, my lady, that I have loved none but you and shall endeavor to be worthy of you when I know, in truth, that I shall never be.  _

_ Forever and always yours, _

_ Daeron _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daeron needs hugs and therapy and to not have to put up with his brother’s bull crap


	8. Jaime III

Jaime hugged his sister tightly. Even though Cersei was older than him, since he had grown taller than her it felt as though he was now the one responsible for looking after her whenever their father had gone to the Red Keep to settle things with the Mad King.

Now, he was once more in charge of her as she returned to King’s Landing. 

They had no friends in court. No one except Celia. The queen probably held no true feelings for them, but that was no doubt because of their friendship their mothers shared rather than genuine care. However, Jaime did not fault her for such dismissal. She had every right to hold a grudge and he respected the queen enough to not bother her with his presence if he did not have to. 

“It hasn’t even been that long,” Cersei huffed. “You act as though you haven’t seen me in years.”

“Can’t I simply miss my twin?” Jaime asked. “I think I’m well within my rights to do so.”

His sister rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair. “You worry too much Jaime. It’s utterly ridiculous. I am the older twin afterall.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “But what are you doing back? I thought you were going to stay in Casterly Rock?”

The only reason he wasn’t sent back to the Westerlands was because of his vows to the kingsguard. If not for those, he doubted the king would allow any Lannister to remain. 

Not after one of the Westerland bannermen went rogue. 

Not after the queen and her children were almost killed. 

“Don’t you know?” Cersei asked. 

“Know what?”

“It was requested that I return to the Red Keep to serve under Celia.”

Jaime blinked. “Requested? By who?”

Cersei shook her head and shrugged. “It was a request from the king, but I doubted that he was the one to think on it. Even so, I’m glad that I was able to return for Celia’s sake.”

She took Jaime’s arm as they walked back to the Red Keep. Her arrival was not anything special in the eyes of the king so there was no one who could come and greet her. Even Celia could not come as she and her husband were expected to share their midday meal with the king. 

“For Celia’s sake?” Jaime asked. 

“As you know, Celia and I still exchanged letters even after I left for Casterly.”

“Of course. The two of you have probably exchanged more letters than she and I have.”

“That is due to your reading disability Jaime, not your lack of will.”

“Don’t change the subject, Cersei.”

She chewed her lips as they continued on into the keep. “Celia has told me sensitive things and I do not think it my place to tell you.”

Jaime froze. “If he is hurting her, then it is my place to know.

“Nothing of that nature. It’s just…” Cersei sighed. “Celia’s feelings are hurt and she told me what has happened in confidence and I shall not speak of them to you for she asked me not to. If she were in danger, I promise I would tell you.”

Jaime’s mouth formed a thin line. “Promise?”

“I swear it.”

—

Celia had her hair loose again. It ran down her back like a river of fire. The slow pace at which they walked and the slight breeze within the outside walkway made her look every bit as royal as her husband’s title granted her. 

However, Jaime has always thought she looked like a princess. Even in their childhood, even in their youth. She had always been a princess to him. A goddess, even, at times. 

Today she wore a dress of Tully blue with black trim. A red red ribbon was tied around her waist and it was thick enough that it could almost be referred to as a sash. 

“Have you been well?” Jaime asked her softly as they made their way through the gardens. “I feel as though I do not ask you this enough.”

“You ask me almost every time we speak,” Celia said with a gentle smile. 

“Even so, I feel that I must ask it.”

“I merely miss Riverrun,” she admitted. “I miss my father and sisters and brother. I feel as though they would not be welcome at court. They both married into families that went in direct conflict against the king’s father.”

Jaime squeezed her hand that rested against his arm. “I am certain you will be able to see them at some point,” he promised. “Perhaps at the next tourney or some other event. Maybe one shall be held at Riverrun, as to show that the king prefers peace.”

The last bit, Jaime doubted. Too many had been lost at the Trident. Too many men of the Riverlands had lost their lives due to the prince and Celia’s husband. While everyone, no doubt, wished for peace, there was too much blood shed for anyone to truly wish for anything peaceful at the moment. However, Jaime somehow did not doubt that the king would be insensitive enough to celebrate the first year of his reign at his supposedly glorious victory in the Riverlands. 

Celia squeezed his arm. “A part of me hopes you are right. I miss the smell of water that is clean and the river grass and the sound of crickets and frogs.”

“Perhaps your husband might take you?” Jaime suggested tentatively.

She stiffened slightly at his side, but continued to walk. “I am certain my husband has much more to do than entertain his wife over such trivial matters.”

“Celia—”

“It’s fine, Jaime,” she said firmly. “Besides, I am well aware of my husband’s importance within the capital as Hand of the King. He needs to be by his brother’s side and I think he is doing well in reigning the king’s impulses.”

In that, they were both in agreement. 

“I pray that you talk to me if ever you need my assistance,” Jaime said softly. 

Celia smiled and kissed his cheek quickly. Where her lips touched it was as though he had been burned. The warmth spread against his skin, curling around his joints as he tried to keep himself from taking her face in his hands and kissing her. 

“If I truly feel in danger,” she said. “I promise that I shall come to you.” Celia squeezed his arm as they continued to make their way through the garden. 

—

Cersei and Celia were in the latter's more private solar with Jaime standing guard outside it. He could hear bits of their conversation upon occasion and he guessed that they were taking a turn around the room, preferring to not simply sit. The sun had gotten unbearably hot and the members of the court had sought refuge inside. 

Jaime was not meaning to overhear the conversation and he attempted to think of other things and focus on the duty at hand. However, one name struck out and brought his attention out of his stupor. 

“Ashara.” It was Celia that spoke the name. The name of the Dornish lady who had been Prince Daeron’s friend prior to the rebellion, prior to the death of Ser Ben Wode, though not many were aware of the knight's connection to Lady Ashara. The lady whom many had assumed the prince would marry. The lady whom rumors swirled about like an ongoing nightmare. The lady whose presence haunted the queen upon occasion, her most trusted and loyal friend. 

“Did they truly say that about your husband and Lady Ashara?” Cersei asked, her voice in a tight whisper. 

“They believe she would have made a better bride for the prince than I do,” Celia replied, her voice strained. “They claimed if I were like Ashara I would be better able to keep my husband in our marriage bed.”

Cersei gasped at such an accusation. “Do you believe he has strayed?”

“He and I share a bed most nights as the king insists that I must become pregnant, but I know well enough that coupling need not happen during the night or in a bed.”

“For all his stoicism, I do not feel the prince is the sort of man who would do such a thing.”

“I do not think so either,” Celia said lightly. “From my understanding he is popular with women, but not necessarily good with them.” There was a pause. “But perhaps I am mistaken, I do not know him so well. The women gossiping thought that perhaps we might hear news of a royal bastard soon.”

“Oh, Celia,” Cersei said. “Surely nothing like that shall happen. It would bring too much scandal to the royal family.”

“His brother did not care for such things and I very much doubt he would either.”

“My father always spoke very highly of Prince Daeron, saying he took after his mother rather than his father. Surely that means something.”

The sound of crying came from the solar and Jaime’s heart tensed. 

“I do not know what I shall do if I cannot find a place here. I have only you and Jaime on my side and I feel as though everyone would take his and anything that happens outside of my marriage will be placed at my feet. I am not as loved as Queen Elia and I fear I shall become nothing more than a hostage to keep the old rebels at bay.”

—

Jaime’s blood was already hit despite the heat of the day, it was already hot from hearing the woman he loved crying helplessly at her situation. It was all stewing from the past week of hearing to that conversation. It was stewing with no way for him to release the anger and helplessness he felt in it all. That he could not comfort her, that she went to Cersei instead of him. 

His blood was already hot when Prince Daeron entered the training grounds and asked if anyone would be interested in a spar. 

Jaime has volunteered readily, even though Arthur and a few of the other guards on duty tried to volunteer instead, tried to talk the prince out of it, but he shrugged it off saying that he didn’t mind. 

He wasn’t sure if it was because Prince Daeron was that confident or if it was because he simply wasn’t thinking. Either way, Jaime’s blood was too high for the spar he was about the take part in. 

Live steel was to be used and Jaime felt the call to it as easily as he did breathing. This was the same sword that took the life of the prince’s father, the sword he had been forced to use to vow that Celia could never be his. 

His blood was too hot for what he volunteered to do. 

The clash of steel sang through his bones and every block or swing was like a bell continually ringing through his head. 

He was on fire. He burned and burned and burned. 

His vision was swirling red and white as he went on pure instinct, his mind no longer present to the fight. Nothing put his anger fueled him. 

Jaime’s blood was too hot. 

He was not aware of what was happening until he was being pulled away by Arthur and another knight. He was unaware until his vision cleared and he saw Prince Daeron clutching at his face, blood spilling from between his fingers, his teeth clenched as the blood continued to run down his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😬


	9. Celia III

“And how is married life, Ce?” Cersei asked as they shared a small meal together in Celia’s solar. 

“It is as well as it can be, I suppose,” she said. “We are near perfect strangers.”

“Surely you have come to know and understand your husband at least a little bit.”

“We barely speak and he has made it plain that he does not desire me in the way that a husband would his wife.”

Cersei looked offended on her behalf. “If I do say so myself, if I were a man I would have married you in an instant and treasured you as my father did my mother.”

Celia smiled slightly then frowned. “But perhaps there is a reason for his distance?”

“And what reason would that be?”

“I overheard some ladies whispering that Lady Ashara and my husband would… well, they seemed to imply that they would be a more favorable couple.”

Cersei looked at her in utter shock. “Did they truly say that about your husband and Lady Ashara?”

“They believe she would have made a better bride for the prince than I do,” Celia replied, her voice strained. She could still hear the ladies whispering and now she constantly wondered if others were thinking the same thing. “They claimed if I were like Ashara I would be better able to keep my husband in our marriage bed.”

Cersei gasped at such an accusation. “Do you believe he has strayed?”

Celia shook her head. She did not know her husband well, but, even when they did not share a bed, she felt that she would have heard something had he taken a lover into his own bed. “He and I share a bed most nights as the king insists that I must become pregnant, but I know well enough that coupling need not happen during the night or in a bed.”

“For all his stoicism, I do not feel the prince is the sort of man who would do such a thing.” Cersei appeared contemplated, deep in thought as though she were sorting through some information that had just come to mind. 

“I do not think so either,” Celia said lightly. “From my understanding he is popular with women, but not necessarily good with them.” But she had never seen him with Lady Ashara. Perhaps it was different with her just as Jaime had been different from any lady that was not her, Cersei, or one of his aunts. “But perhaps I am mistaken, I do not know him so well. The women gossiping thought that perhaps we might hear news of a royal bastard soon.”

“Oh, Celia,” Cersei said, taking Celia’s hand in her own. “Surely nothing like that shall happen. It would bring too much scandal to the royal family.”

“His brother did not care for such things and I very much doubt he would either.” She could see the moments of sadness reach the queen’s eyes when she thought no one was looking. Celia did not think she could handle the heartbreak and humiliation of it.

“My father always spoke very highly of Prince Daeron, saying he took after his mother rather than his father. Surely that means something.”

Tears began to slide down Celia’s cheeks. Surely if Lord Tywin said it then it must be so, but she had her to meet such a man. Her husband was a stranger in nearly every way. She did not know if he was like his mother or father. Perhaps he might be both. 

“I do not know what I shall do if I cannot find a place here. I have only you and Jaime on my side and I feel as though everyone would take his and anything that happens outside of my marriage will be placed at my feet. I am not as loved as Queen Elia and I fear I shall become nothing more than a hostage to keep the old rebels at bay.”

Cersei squeezed her hand. “You shall not for I will not allow it. For all that it is worth, for as little power as we have now, you have House Lannister in your corner.”

Celia wiped away her tears quickly. “Thank you.”

—

_ Dearest Celia, _

_ I am happy to report that Winterfell is perhaps one of the easiest places to settle when you have Ned Stark by your side.  _

_ I had been nervous to marry my lord husband because I did not know him at all. And then there was the fact that I feared that there would be no comparison between him and his brother Brandon, but I was correct in thinking there would be no comparison for Ned is a better man than I ever imagined Brandon to be.  _

_ Oh, Celia.  _

_ Ned has built me a sept to pray in.  _

_ I knew that the North prayed to the old gods and to the trees in which their faces were carved, and I had thought that I would be expected to give up the Seven in order to please my husband, but he has built me a sept.  _

_ Oh, Celia, I have never felt so blessed.  _

_ Sweet Robb is getting bigger by the day and I wish he would stop growing for I wish that he would stay this small forever. Oh, he is so adorable. He reminds me of Edmure when he was a babe. I hope that, one day you shall be able to visit and meet your nephew before he is a man grown.  _

_ You would love the North, Celia, and I demand that you and your husband visit as soon as you are able, although I know that it might be difficult due to your husband’s prominent position in court. However, I demand that you come in the near future and as your older sister you must do as I bid.  _

_ Because I am writing already, I feel I must inform you that the young prince is doing well too. Ned pours a lot of attention into his nephew and it breaks my heart at times that this is all that Ned has left of his sister, that he holds so dearly onto her memory.  _

_ There is a sadness that overcomes my husband upon occasion and you can sense the weight of his loss so clearly that it brings tears to my own eyes at the heaviness of it.  _

_ Even so, I pray that you and your husband will become as happy as I am with Ned. You deserve happiness, sweet sister. I pray that you shall be given it.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Cat _

—

Celia and Cersei both were invited to come to one of Queen Elia’s tea parties. Cersei had wondered if it would be better that she not attend, despite the invitation, but Celia did not wish to go alone. 

When they arrived to the queen’s rooms, most of the ladies of court had already arrived. Celia and Cersei gave their respects to the queen, giving a deep curtsy. 

“Rise,” the older woman said. The queen stood and went to them. She took Celia’s hands in her own. “I am glad you were able to come, sister. For I find that your presence is a calming one.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Celia replied. She wasn’t sure if this was the truth or merely something that her good sister felt needed to be said. If it were a warning to the other ladies or a way to make herself feel as thin she had said what was expected due to their connection. 

“And it is wonderful to see you in court, Lady Cersei. I am glad that your father is able to manage without you in Casterly Rock.” 

Cersei kept her head bowed. “Thank you, your grace. I am honored to be back in our country’s capital.”

Elia smiled gracefully. “I must attend to my other guests. I shall see you two soon. Make yourselves comfortable.”

The two bowed again as the queen left and the two made their way to a small table and two servants brought them their tea. Celia hoped that the queen returned swiftly for she greatly wished to ask the woman about Lady Ashara Dayne and any truths to the rumors of her connection to Prince Daeron. 

“Have you been to one of these before?” Celia asked. 

“A few times when Queen Rhaella lived. She was fond of my mother to a degree and tried to extend that kindness towards me.”

Celia nodded. If she had a choice, she would not come, would not visit the queen unless it was just the two of them or in a much smaller group than this. It felt as though everyone had eyes on her, waiting for her to make a mistake, waiting for herself to prove that she did not deserve to be married to Prince Daeron. 

Cersei and Celia began to discuss quietly about the Westerlands and the Riverlands and whatever news they had heard from home recently. Lord Tywin was happy to be back in his home, but sent a letter to Cersei admitting he missed her presence. Celia’s father and brother had written to her as well and her Uncle Brynden had written to her of Lysa since her sister wasn’t a person who particularly cared for letter writing. 

“Lady Celia,” a woman came up to them. 

She did not recognize the woman and found nothing to state from which house she hailed from either. “May I help you?”

“The ladies and I were wondering something, Lady Celia, and we hoped that you might be able to answer it.”

Celia glanced at her friend who shrugged slightly. Celia returned her gaze to the strange woman. “If I am able to give you an answer, I don’t see why I would not share it.”

The woman smiled, her teeth flashing like a stalking animal. “We were wondering if Prince Daeron has ever said Lady Ashara’s name in bed.”

Celia was so shocked at the question that she merely opened her mouth, unable to speak. 

Cersei, however, was not so frozen. Her friend stood abruptly. “How dare you.”

“Celia!” the queen called as she was making her way quickly to the table. She took Celia’s hand and pulled her up. “We are needed immediately. Lady Cersei, you are as well.”

The queen sounded so shaken that Celia did not know what to do. She was pulled from the room and they walked quickly and it was then that Celia noticed that the halls seemed eerily quiet and yet, as they moved through the keep, things grew louder and louder, especially as they drew closer to Celia’s chambers. 

“What has happened?” Celia demanded. 

“It appears your husband has been hurt.”

—

Celia had let go of the queen’s arm and rushed to her rooms, her heart pounding in her chest. 

Hurt?

How could her husband be hurt? 

He was perhaps one of the greatest swordsmen in Westeros. He was considered to be the hero of the loyalists in the rebellion, even if it had been his brother who had defeated Robert Baratheon. 

How could he be hurt?

Celia threw open the door to her husband’s rooms as the servants scattered. Celia held her hand to her mouth and gasped. Her husband was upon his bed being held down by Ser Arthur and Lord Jon Connington as the maester attended to him. The prince’s face was covered in blood, staining his white hair and their sheets. Celia stepped forward on instinct to go to her husband but was held back by her uncle, Ser Oswell Whent. 

“This is not something you need to see, lass,” he said. 

“Let me go!” she demanded. Celia returned her gaze to Prince Daeron and covered her mouth once more to silence a scream as her husband roared in pain as the maester continued his work. Her uncle dragged her out of the room and set her outside the door, to which the queen and Cersei had arrived at. 

“What has happened?” the queen demanded. 

“Prince Daeron was slashed in the face and the maester fears that he shall lose an eye,” Ser Oswell said through gritted teeth, only calming when Celia had stopped fighting against him. 

“Slashed?” Cersei gasped. “Who would dare to lay a hand on the prince?”

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said. “Ser Jaime Lannister is the one who did it.” Celia’s heart stuttered in her chest as she looked up at her uncle with wide eyes. “He has already been arrested.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’ve backtracked a little bit but yes.


	10. Daeron III

“Celia,” Daeron said softly, approaching the balcony with care. 

His wife was standing upon the ledge and Daeron’s heart pounded in his chest, pounded in his ears as he reached towards her. She wore a blue dress, the hem dripping red like blood and her hair in a singular braid swaying slightly with the wind. She was looking out over the city of King’s Landing, the sun high in the sky, watching them, judging them. 

“Celia, please,” he begged. “Take my hand. Please, don’t leave me. Please.” When Daeron was close enough, he grabbed onto her skirt, sinking his fingers into it and clutching at the fabric. “Come back from the ledge.”

“If I dropped,” she replied, her words strangely accented. “If I dropped would you go mad? If I dropped,” she looked down at him. “Would you break?”

“Don’t leave me Celia,” he urged, wrapping his arms around her legs. “Don’t leave me alone, please. I can’t lose you, not like this. I can’t.”

“Then why did you kill him?” The voice had changed and Daeron looked up. Red hair had turned black and blue eyes turned into a shocking violet. “Why did you kill the man I love?”

“It was war, Ashara,” he tried to reason. “I… he would have killed me too. I didn’t… I didn’t want to… please. You’re my best friend, please believe me!”

“You killed him,” she answered, her voice cold. “It would have been better if you had died. It would have been better if you had been the one to bleed out upon the Trident. It would have been better if our daughter didn’t know a selfish man like you. Anything we hold dear you long to kill.”

“No,” he begged. “No, Ashara please.”

“You let him die.” Daeron turned his head and saw Celia standing on the ledge next to Ashara. She was crying and her hands were in front of her, a white cloak clutched in her hands. “You let him die.”

“Celia—“

“Why did you let him die?”

Ashara disappeared beneath his grip and Daeron lunged toward Celia grasping at her as she fell. 

“Celia!”

—

Daeron jerked awake, his face stinging. He pressed his fingertips lightly to his face and found it bandaged, covering one of his eyes. 

“Don’t move too much.” A hand came upon his own and pulled it back. He looked and saw his wife, her cheeks shiny with previously shed tears and her eyes rimmed with red. “The maester said that you needed to rest and let your face heal.” She stroked some hair behind his ear as he looked at her. “Your eye… I’m sorry, the maester couldn’t save it.”

“I don’t care,” he said, sitting up carefully. “Plenty of Targaryens have survived with only one eye.”

She still looked at him in worry and Daeron wondered what his face looked like to her. He wondered if she thought him ugly. He wondered if she would not care for him to ever touch her again and whatever affection he had been allowed to show her in their bed would end. Daeron squeezed her hand in his. The vision of her falling, the vision of her slipping through his fingers terrified him. “But that isn’t why you were crying,” he said gently. 

“My prince—“

He shook his head, but winced. It hurt. If hurt more than anything his father had ever done to him. “What’s happened since I have been out?”

“You… you were out for three days on milk of poppy. The maester felt that it would be better for you to begin healing without the pain.”

“But that is not why you have shed tears.”

She looked guilty, so very guilty. 

“I’m not angry with you, my lady. I kn…” his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he stopped for a moment, trying to collect the words before he spoke them. “I know you do not love me.” He knew she would be glad if he had died, if he left her free to marry someone she truly loved. “I d… I don’t fault you for it.” He looked at her with as much sincerity as he was able. “Tell me what has happened for you to cry so much.”

“I did cry for you, Prince Daeron,” she said squeezing his hand. “Some of my tears were for you. And when I heard of your injury, I came running. And I have not left your side since.”

“But?”

“Ser Jaime… Ser Jaime was arrested and awaits trial for attacking a prince.” She took a shuddering breath and kissed his hand. “Many know of my affection for the knight and our precious betrothal. They say that he attacked you because of me and my marriage to you. Believe me, my prince, I have not spoken ill of you towards him…”

“They say,” Daeron repeated. “Have you not seen him?”

“I could not leave your side,” she answered. “And they would not let me see him if I wished it. Lady Cersei is not even able to see him. They have held back the trial for your sake so that you may be there for the sentencing.”

“And what is it they say the punishment will be?”

“Death,” she whispered softly. 

He wondered if Ashara had looked so stricken when she heard of Ser Ben Wode’s death. He wondered if there had ever been anyone to have loved him so dearly as his wife did for Ser Jaime Lannister. 

“Help me dress, my lady,” he said. 

She looked at him with wide eyes. “You must rest. There is nothing—“

“I shall speak to my brother on Ser Jaime’s behalf. His actions and their c… their consequences were not on purpose.” He turned his legs to the side of the bed, his body stiff from laying down so much. “I shall speak to my brother and make sure Ser Jaime faces no charges for an accident that could have happened to anyone. So help me dress, I doubt my brother would be pleased to have me walking about the keep in my night clothes.”

His wife helped him up and helped him dress, putting him in simple clothes that would not restrain his movements too much. He looked at himself in the mirror and wanted to laugh. He looked to be in quite a state. 

“You can stay here,” he said as he prepares to leave. “I will not allow you to listen to my brother’s unkind words.” He touched her cheek and kissed her forehead. “I shall be back soon.”

—

“Release Jaime Lannister,” Daeron said firmly as he stood before his brother in his solar. Elia was there as well and her presence comforted him a bit. If his good sister was there then there was a chance that his brother might see reason. 

“And why should I do that?” Rhaegar asked, not even looking up from his desk. “He killed our father and I let him go without punishment and now he has taken your eye. There appears to be a pattern and is it so wrong for me to worry about my life or that of my son’s?” He looked up then. “Surely you understand that concern.”

“You know Jaime Lannister loves my wife too much to put her in this position. We were sparring. It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone. It’s my own fault for not blocking his blow properly, now let him go. Take away some of his privileges for a few weeks as punishment. That’s all you need to do.”

“And why should I?” Rhaegar asked, standing. 

“It was an accident,” Elia said from her own seat. “Even Arthur and Jon could see that it was nothing more than that.”

“And yet I feel he should be made an example of.” Rhaegar went around his desk and put his hand on Daeron’s shoulder. “This would work in your favor anyways, Daeron. Your wife has yet to give news of a child and many know of her affection for the Lannister knight. Perhaps it would be better if he were gone. Then perhaps someone might finally give her love to you.”

Daeron grabbed his brother by the collar and shoved him against his desk. “D-don’t touch him,” he growled. “Leave him and my w-wife al-lone.”

“You truly are more intimidating when you don’t speak,” his brother said cruelly. “It’s no wonder father preferred you to be silent.”

“D-do not t-test me, Rhaegar,” Daeron said, his grip tightening on his brother’s collar. “I will n-not be the reason my wife l-loses the man she loves.”

His brother examined him closely and shook his head. “You’re truly hopeless. It’s no wonder Father had no faith in you. Mother babied you far too much for your own good.” He shoved Daeron’s hands off him and pushed him back. Rhaegar straightened his collar. “I won’t kill the Lannister boy. But, I shall take him away from your lady wife so that he may never guard her again or be alone with him either. Can’t have a bastard now can we?”

“N-no, that would be y-your job.”

Elia took a sharp breath and Daeron briefly felt bad for insulting her as well. 

His brother’s lip twitched into a snarl. “You almost sounded threatening,” he sneered. “Tell your wife my verdict. Perhaps she might even reward you for good behavior.”

“Write th-the order for his release and I w-will go.”

Rhaegar snorted and returned to his desk and wrote out the order. Daeron took it, bowed his head towards Elia and left quickly, his face throbbing in pain. 

—

He had released Jaime, but he went to his wife before the knight could speak to him. His face continued to her, the pain burned greater than any fire his father had brought him towards.

When he entered his room, Celia stood, her eyes wide with worry. 

“It’s done,” he said softly. 

She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at him. But she grew blurry and he could see a frown. 

Celia rushed towards him. 

“Daeron!” 

He collapsed into her arms and she put a hand to his brow, her touch like ice. 

“Someone call a maester!” she shouted. 

“Daeron,” she said softly. “Daeron, stay awake, please.”

Everything faded to black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much angst. So much of it.   
> And I know all of you want to punch Rhaegar.


	11. Jaime IV

Kingslayer. 

He could hear it echo across the halls from where he was confined in his rooms. People cursed him for it, but knowing all that he had done for them, that they lived because of the title they threw at his feet. 

And now they felt they had even more of a right to judge him, even more of a right to see him as someone beneath them. 

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to wear a white cloak or shining armor to serve any king who put themselves and their own comforts over the lives of the people. 

No, he was supposed to be in Casterly Rock with Celia at his side, her red hair braided as his mother’s had been, wearing dresses of gold and silk of ivory white. 

Yet, there he was, completely and utterly alone in all that he was. A king had dared to speak against his father’s hopes due to wounded pride. In the very tournament that would fracture Westeros into seven pieces, Jaime would lose any hope at being allowed to have the life he wanted. 

The life he wanted with Celia. 

When Jaime had been given the white cloak, he had hoped to be allowed to participate in the tourney. He had hoped that he might be able to win, despite all the odds that had been stacked against him so that he might share one more memory with Celia, that he might crown her as his Queen of Love and Beauty, that the world might know that his honor lay with the king, but his heart was hers and hers alone. It would only ever be hers. 

But he had been denied the possibility and sent back to King’s Landing to protect a queen the same king brutalized. 

And now sat another king who thought little of anyone but himself. Celia, innocent Celia, was dragged into the Targaryens and their games and there was nothing he could do to protect her, not now, not after how impulsively and angrily he had behaved. 

He regretted it. Regretted that he had taken his anger out on Celia’s husband, angry that he had allowed himself to grow so angry. Angry that he had let it come to this. 

This was not Prince Daeron’s fault, not completely. 

He had thought that he was going to rot in that cell. He thought that he would be taken into the throne room and hung above a pit of fire or strangled or beheaded. He had watched when Aerys Targaryen had done it all. He had thought he might join the countless others, the numerous victims of Targaryen justice, but he had been spared. 

He did not know what it was that caused Prince Daeron to have him released. He could not understand it at all. 

—

Cersei, however, was seething when she came to visit him at last. So much so that she took off her slipper and threw it at his head with expert aim. He was in no mood to dodge it so the slipper found its mark and gently crashed into his face. 

“What do you want, Cersei?” he asked. “I am not in the mood.”

“The mood?” Cersei asked, her voice a little shrill. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I feel as though you are going to tell me regardless of how I answer that question.”

She scowled at him. “The prince has a high fever, no doubt from a slight infection and Celia has made it her duty to watch after her husband as he recovers, nearly effectively cutting herself off from court when she should be making more connections, any connections, that might put her in a better situation, especially now with everything that you’ve done.”

“It was an accident, Cersei,” he said plainly. 

“It does not matter if it was an accident,” she growled. “It does not matter what really happened, all that matters is how these events are going to be revived and how this will affect Celia.”

Jaime glared at her. “And tell me, oh great Cersei, what it is that this is going to be received?”

“It is no secret that the two of you were once engaged and that the betrothal was broken by the Mad King. Everyone knows that although the match was based on politics that there was true affection between you. Everyone knows this and yet you are determined to show that you are incapable of acting rationally despite your vows and despite your marriage. It reflects poorly on you and our family, but, most of all, it reflects horribly on Celia.”

“I am not trying to make things harder on her,” he said softly. 

“It does not matter what you did and did not mean,” Cersei said, her voice stern. “Celia has been placed in a precarious situation because you could not keep your temper and we must hope that Prince Daeron is as gracious as he appears, letting you go free and live unpunished.”

“I shall never be allowed near her again,” Jaime said. “That is punishment.”

“But you are alive,” his twin said flippantly. “Keep your head down and try to not cause Celia any more problems than you already have.”

Cersei grabbed her shoe and put it back on her foot before turning on her heels and leaving Jaime in his misery. 

—

Prince Daeron called Jaime to his rooms. Although he was invited, two of his brothers took him to the princess chambers. He wondered briefly if Celia would be there. 

“Lady Celia is with your sister in the gardens,” Arthur said, as though reading his thoughts. 

Jaime looked away, only mildly embarrassed. However, he hadn’t seen her in so long, even if it hadn’t been that long at all. Time moved so much more slowly, he felt. Celia was so far away from him, even when they had been in the same room. Their last kiss still burned across his memory like wildfire, catching hold of every thought that echoed in his brain. 

He supposed, perhaps, it was better that she wasn’t there, that she wasn’t in the same room as he and her husband were in. It would make him look like a bad guy. 

Arthur knocked on the door and the prince said it was alright to come in. 

Jaime stepped in hesitantly and felt bad when he saw that the prince was still laid out in his bed, his face bandaged. He’d been told that they couldn’t save the eye and that only made Jaime feel even worse. 

“Your grace,” Jaime said, bowing his head slightly. 

“Please sit,” Prince Daeron motioned towards a seat near his bed. “It’s easier for me to see you there without moving my head too much.”

Jaime nodded and sat down next to the prince’s bed. They were quiet for a moment when Jaime decided to speak. “I wanted to thank you, for getting me out of the cells.”

The prince shook his head. “There’s no need to thank me. This,” he pointed to his bandages face, “was an accident. And you shouldn’t be punished so severely for an accident.”

“How do you know it wasn’t an accident?” Jaime asked before he could think. 

Prince Daeron watched him for a moment and sighed. “Because if you had meant to, you could have killed me. And I know you care about my wife enough to not put her in such a precarious situation. You probably weren’t thinking when I was hurt, but your intentions were not bad.” He paused. “Besides, I could not let you get punished so severely, Celia would have never forgiven herself if something had happened to you.”

“What happened wasn’t Celia’s fault.”

“I know, but you have known her longer than I and she would have blamed herself.”

In that, Jaime could not argue. 

—

Celia sat next to Queen Elia at the feast, dressed in dark blue and a red collar and trim. She was beautiful. Utterly breathtaking, but she was pale and only joined in conversations when she was asked to do so by the queen. When the conversation drifted away from her she would quietly eat, glancing at the seat her husband should have occupied. 

Midway through the meal, she whispered softly to the queen, who nodded. Celia stood and curtsied to the king and queen before being escorted out of the great hall and into the darkness of the keep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas!!!!
> 
> Part ONE of the three chapters I’m going to post for this fic today!


	12. Celia IV

Celia made her way carefully from the feast, Ser Arthur trailed behind her. Mage thought, for a brief moment if she should ask about his late sister as they made their way back to her and her husband’s apartment. 

However, she decided that it would be unwise and unkind to do so. Celia could see that the thought of Lady Ashara saddened the queen, who was her friend, she could not imagine the knight’s feelings when it came to his own sister. If one of her sisters or her brother had died, she did not think she would care for anyone to ask about them, especially about some rather intimate rumor that may or may not even be true. 

It would be cruel to hear that a rumor was spreading about his sister if it wasn’t even true. 

And so, she kept quiet as she made her way into her chambers. She curtsied to Ser Arthur, relieving him of his duties of escorting her and nodded her head to her husband’s guard, who never spoke in Celia’s presence to the point that she wondered if he were a mute. 

Celia carefully entered her husband’s private room and made her way to her husband’s side. She felt his head and found him slightly feverish. The maester said there was no need to worry about infection at the moment, but that they needed to stay vigilant. The bandages had been changed not even half an hour ago before the party had begun and Celia took the cloth sitting next to the basin by the bed and wetted it before wringing it slightly and putting it to his brow. 

“You should be at the feast,” her husband said gently, his words and slow and methodical, chewing on them before he gifted them to her. “Y-you deserve some moments of enjoyment from our marriage. I even sent word and asked the cook to make your favorites as indicated by Lady Cersei.”

Celia had noticed that many of her prefered dishes were on the table but she had not thought much of it. “I could barely eat,” she said softly. “I was too worried and came here.”

Her husband chuckled and opened his hand and she placed her own atop it. He wrapped his fingers around her and she had never really noticed how large his hands were in comparison to her own, how callous they were. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said gently. “I have always been someone who worries far more than I need to. I… my sisters would laugh at me for it because I would make a big deal out of the tiniest of things.”

Daeron smiled. “It just means you have a kind heart,” he began speaking slowly again. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I think it is better to care too much than not at all. I’m just sorry that you are missing the feast.”

“Shall I call for someone to fetch us both something to eat?”

“I would not mind if you do not.”

“I’ll go speak with the guard outside,” she said, moving from him, his hand slipping slowly from her own as though he were not quite ready to let it go.

—

Celia stood next to Queen Elia as she and the king took petitions from the people. 

Many had suffered during the initial sack or from the rebellion in general. Many had lost husbands and sons who had been some of their only bread-winners and were in need of either compensation or jobs to help feed their families. There were some lords, as well, who had crops ruined or keeps set to ruins because of the conflict. 

The king seemed rather bored with these proceedings, although he tended to be rather thoughtful in his rulings. Celia’s husband was usually at his brother’s side giving him suggestions, usually on issues of the money owed to the Iron Bank by the crown. 

Queen Elia often spoke in these petitions as well, especially when it was a woman or a younger person who was seeking aid from the crown. 

The king appeared to listen to his wife’s council earnestly and Celia thought that the queen had a better head for politics, more so than the king did. It appeared the people loved the queen as well. 

Celia hoped that Prince Aegon took more after his mother, rather than his father. She had no doubt that the whole of Westeros hoped for the same.

—

Celia sat in front of her husband as they took their midday meal on the terrace of their solar. The maester said it would be wise for Daeron to get some fresh air and proper sunlight. 

She had asked the cook to make her husband’s favorite foods in return for him asking the same of her for the feast a few days ago. 

He had not had a fever at all since that night and Celia hoped that it would stay that way. The maester was hopeful that he would be better able to travel for further distances than her room. 

“Has my brother been well?” he asked. 

“Has he not visited you?” Celia asked. She was not with her husband for the entire day and thought that, perhaps the king had visited at one of those points. 

“My brother and I… we are not like most… siblings.” He smiled ruefully. “Our father prefered him, our mother… liked me and V… Viserys. Her boys, she called us.”

“Has Viserys been to see you?”

She had yet to properly meet the little prince and princess. Both of them were well protected and it appeared that the little prince was nervous around strangers. The queen had offered to take her to meet them soon. 

“No,” he replied sadly. “I don’t want to frighten him.”

“You are not terrible to look at,” she said. 

He smiled at her slightly. “Even so, he has seen too much to see his big brother like this.”

“Perhaps when you are feeling a little better you can go see him yourself.”

“Perhaps. Little Dany too.” 

Celia smiled at her husband. She chewed her lip for a moment before she spoke. “Do you… do you like children?”

He glanced up at her for a moment before returning his gaze to his plate. “I find them sweet and adorable. I… I always enjoyed playing with my brother or Aegon and Rhaenys.”

“If… when we have a child of our own… would you not be disappointed that they weren’t… Valyrian looking,” she took a shaking breath. “I know Rhaenys looks Dornish, but there is something about her eyes and lips that are very much like the king. And… well… my sister’s husband, Lord Stark, has a very distinct coloring and yet her son is all Tully.”

“My house words are  _ fire and blood.  _ Perhaps red hair is what we should have had all along.”

Celia blushed and glanced down at her plate. While she had only just recently finished having her moon blood, perhaps having a child with her husband would bring him so much joy that even if someone else had been in his heart initially… perhaps she might be allowed happiness in her marriage after all. 

Perhaps she could have all that she wanted and wished. 

Someday… 

Someday her heart would turn towards her husband. 

Perhaps, someday. 

—

Celia stood by the bed hesitantly as the maester fitted an eyepatch for Daeron that would put a slight pressure to his eye and pad it so that it was not completely vulnerable. 

“I feel like a pirate,” her husband said darkly. He sounded somewhat annoyed, but his expression did not match his voice. 

Celia smiled slightly. 

“It is better to look like a pirate, your grace, rather than have the eye completely vulnerable,” the maester said, stepping away. “If you do not like the look of it, I’m certain there are some references to Aemond One-Eye to have a sapphire fitted to your missing one.”

Daeron chuckled. “I would be quite the sight. It would match my wife’s eyes, but I fear it would be frightening.”

Celia approached slowly, examining her husband’s face. The eyepatch did not hide the long irritated scar across his face, but he was beautiful nonetheless. “You do look like a pirate,” she said, cupping his face in her hands. “But I think you still look handsome.”

Celia could not tell if he was blushing or if it was simply the irritation from the scar. Daeron’s violet eye looked at her, a flash of something she did not recognize. She could hardly tell what her husband was thinking when he had both eyes. She doubted she would be able to read him now. 

Perhaps with time she would be better able to understand his moods, she prayed it to be so. 

“I am glad I do not frighten you,” he said softly. 

Celia smiled and kissed his brow tenderly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just know that if Daeron isn’t stuttering around Celia it’s because he’s speaking really slowly and methodically so that he doesn’t. 
> 
> Part 2/3 chapters for this fic that I’m posting today!  
>  Happy Christmas!


	13. Daeron IV

Daeron sparred carefully against Arthur. 

He could barely call it sparring. Daeron was trying to figure out his reach and how to move without allowing his blindspot to stay open for long. They weren’t using live steel either. Daeron wanted to get used to the weight of the swords, but Arthur firmly refused him. 

“Not until you’re better able to figure your surroundings,” Arthur said plainly. “We don’t need you to lose another eye. If you become blind then you’re going to be utterly useless.”

Daeron huffed, frustrated at how he could not move as easily as he had before. He had been in bed for far too long. “I still need to p-practice with a sword’s actual weight.”

“You can do that by yourself when no one else is carrying a sword around you,” Arthur said, blocking one of Daeron’s slower blows. “And no one else is around you. Don’t want to hurt anyone.” His friend paused. “And why are you trying so hard? It isn’t as though we are at war anymore. It isn’t as though there is a threat you need to worry about.”

“Even if there is no conflict now,” Daeron said. “The crown has m-many enemies, there are plenty of people who do not care for Rhaegar or the Targaryen hold of Westeros. I have to be r-ready and able to protect my family.”

“And does that include Naerys?” 

Daeron’s heart stuttered in his chest. He had not even seen his daughter yet, much less held her. He wanted to, he wanted to hold her, this little person who was his and his alone, but then the sudden fear that she would be frightened of him, that she would not want anything to do with him. 

“I am doing what I can to bring my d-daughter to me, Arthur,” he looked up at his friend. “I owe it to Ashara. Even if… even if she h-hated me in the end, even if she never loved me in that way as I never loved her… I want to do right by our d-daughter. She deserves to have one parent with her. She deserves… she…”

Arthur patted his back. “I know. Just…” he sighed. “You need to tell Lady Celia, Daeron. It isn’t my place or Elia’s to tell her that you have a bastard, even if it’s a daughter. It’s not our place to tell her you want to bring Naerys to the Red Keep. You need to tell her. It isn’t fair that she’s left in the dark.”

“I know…”

—

Celia carefully helped Daeron around the garden. He was still trying to understand the space that was around him, trying to understand how not to bump into things, which he was being absolutely dreadful at. 

His wife was doing the best that she could to guide him around the garden maze, but he kept wanting to step in the wrong direction and hitting a bush or a bench or any other number of things that he had never noticed were in the maze. 

“Perhaps we should sit?” his wife asked tentatively, her hand on his arm for reassurance. 

“Yes,” he replied hesitantly. He hated looking weak in front of her. Hated looking bumbling. Hated looking like a fool. He felt that Jaime Lannister would have done better if he had suffered some great injury. He would have been all the grace and prowess that Daeron lacked. He was resentful for it, resentful because it was just one thing more that Jaime Lannister had that Daeron didn’t. 

“I am sorry you are stuck with a husband who is half blind,” he said slowly, always careful to never tumble over his words when he was around his wife, never wanting to be seen as less of a man in her eyes. 

_ Who could ever love a pathetic boy like you? _

His father’s voice was in his head more often than his mother’s and he was determined to be a better man than the late king had ever been. He had only the vaguest of memories of his father being kind, but that kindness had almost always been directed at Rhaegar. Daeron doubted his brother had much thought for his cruel nature. If he had, he wouldn’t have left Elia or his children alone with him, he would not have allowed their mother’s abuse to go on for so long either. 

“There is nothing wrong with you as you are,” Celia said gently as they sat down. “You are doing more than most would. I am certain that many would have given up the sword and fighting if they were in your position.”

“You are too generous, my lady.”

“You are not generous enough, my prince,” she said earnestly. “You should not be ashamed of trying. As Prince Aegon’s steps become more sure, would you fault him for his blunders?”

“No,” Daeron replied weakly. 

“Then you should not blame yourself for your own.” She lifted his hand and pressed her lips to his knuckles. “You are doing so well, you should hear how the maester and Ser Arthur boast of your progress.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

She smiled at him sweetly and Daeron’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Shall we try walking again?”

“Yes,” he nodded. He stood and helped her up and they began to walk once more, a little more slowly this time. 

—

He had yet to send his letter to Celia. He had thoughts to give it to her before the incident, but now he felt as though he would be foolish in doing so now. His words were too sweet, too innocent in their description of how he felt for his wife. 

Celia was asleep in her own rooms and Daeron made his way carefully to his desk and sat down with a large candle and hesitantly began to write. His lettering was more sloppy than before, but his hand could remember the words and he needed to merely concentrate so that they were in a straight line. 

_ My dearest Celia, _

_ I do not think I have uttered your name to you since the night we first danced for I fear I have made an utter fool of myself since then.  _

_ I feel as though I will never be worthy of saying your name, never be worthy of holding your hand, never be worthy of being your husband. Even more so now that I am crippled.  _

_ I do not say this to disparage myself, my lady, but to say that you deserve more than I am, more than I will ever be.  _

_ Celia, you are my very heart. You are the one I feel I was made for, but fate and circumstance has decided that you were not mine and I have come to understand that. If I could give you your happiness, if I could give you and Ser Jaime Lannister a life away from all this, I would. I believe I would.  _

_ But perhaps I am too selfish for not doing so. Perhaps I am too selfish in my unwillingness to let you go.  _

_ My lady, there is so much I wish to tell you but fear that what little care you have for me will dissolve into hatred if you knew more than I have already shared. But you have a right to know, I just do not know how to speak of it.  _

_ I have a daughter, baseborn that she is. I have never met her, never held her, never had the chance to even name her.  _

_ Her mother was Ashara Dayne. There was nothing between myself and Ashara. I was drunk on my knowledge that you would never be mine and I was too much of a coward to even speak with you. She had too much wine as well, her brothers both too busy to pay attention to her and her act of freedom and rebellion was to drink in excess. We had been great friends before then and when I had awoken the next morning I had wanted to make things right with her and marry her, not because my love for her was romantic, but because it was the right thing to do.  _

_ She laughed and said she would not marry me. She wrote and said she would not marry me even when she learned our one night together led to her becoming with child.  _

_ She had fallen in love, you see. Ser Ben Wode of the Riverlands. They had met at Harrenhal and had been in contact since then. He was the third son of a minor house and so there was very little that her having a child outside of marriage could stop their love from blossoming and they had hopes of marrying after the child was born.  _

_ But then the rebellion took place and Ser Ben Wode fought on the side of his liege lord, your father. He died upon the Trident at my own hand. I did not wish to fight him, but we were at war and I needed to protect my brother, for no reason but to protect his children and Elia.  _

_ Ashara never forgave me and could not bear that the father of her child had killed the man she loved. I can only be thankful that she did not take her anger and hatred on our daughter.  _

_ Her name is Naerys.  _

_ My lady, I wish for her to be with me. I want her to be with one parent, for her to know that she is loved, to not feel as though she is at fault for anything. I will tell you one day, my lady, I swear it.  _

_ I love you, sweet Celia. And though I shall never be worthy of any affection being returned to me, I love you.  _

_ I pray that the gods will give me the strength to tell you all the things I have buried in my heart, for you deserve to know the truth, even if it means you might never move me in return.  _

_ Forever yours, _

_ Daeron _

—

Daeron hovered carefully over Celia as he steadily thrust into her. He had asked her tentatively to share his bed again and she had agreed. She had slid his robe off her shoulders and hand put his arm around her waist, kissing her neck, knowing she probably still did not wish for him to kiss her, to share that sort of intimacy, no matter how much he longed for it. 

Part of him worried and understood that it was not because she loved him or possibly even wished to share their marital bed that she agreed, it was either out of duty or pity and Daeron could not decide which would be worse. 

Celia was panting beneath him, her fingers tangled in his hair as his hot breath fanned across her skin. 

His head was starting to hurt, more specifically, his eye. It was as though all of his body weight was tipping forward into that part of his face that was still healing and it hurt. But he didn’t want to falter, didn’t want to look weak in front of her, did not wish to look as though he did not want her, that he was not in the mood. He felt as though that had been his mistake before. 

“What’s wrong?” Celia’s breathless voice interrupted his thoughts and his rutting stuttered until he was sheathed completely inside her. Her fingers grazed across his jaw, her blue eyes brimming with concern. 

“It’s n-nothing.” 

_ Stop stuttering.  _ His father’s voice bellowed in the back of his mind.  _ What sort of pathetic person should ever find a boy like you endearing? _

“It is not nothing if you are in pain,” she said gently. “Is it your eye?” He couldn’t quite feel it but knew that her other fingers were trailing along the patch he wore even abed. The stitches had not been taken out and he did not wish to frighten her with its ugliness. 

He swallowed. “Aye,” he whispered. “Th-the angle…”

She rolled her hips against his and Daeron flushed. He was shocked when she rolled them onto his back so that she was straddling his hips, still buried deep inside her. 

“Does that feel better?” she asked, flicking her hair behind her back. Her hand was against his injured cheek, her thumb rubbing just along the border of the fabric. 

Daeron nodded hesitantly and Celia began to move, rolling and grinding her hips against his, using her hands to steady herself. 

She was beautiful, like nothing Daeron’s had ever seen, it was hypnotic. 

He put his hands on her hips and slowly began to thrust up into her. Celia's hair slipped from her shoulder and pooled against his stomach as she began to moan softly. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes.”

“Mm,” one of her hands became a fist as he thrust up. “There,” she murmured, breathless and mewling. “Right there.” Celia bent down and kissed his chin, kissed every inch of his face, save for his lips. “Right there,” she breathed into his ear and he spilled. Her falling after him a few seconds later. 

When he held her that night, he kissed her cheek and wished that he could have told her he loved her then, wished he could tell her that her effort meant something to him. 

_ Pathetic _ . His father’s voice whispered across the wind and Daeron pressed his face into the back of his wife’s neck, wishing they could both just disappear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m glad Aerys is dead? Who else is glad that he’s dead?
> 
> And this is the last chapter for this fic that I’m posting today! I hope you enjoyed them! ❤️❤️❤️


	14. Jaime V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but considering I posted three chapters last week. I’m good. 
> 
> And Happy New Year!

“You need to stop brooding, Jaime,” Ser Arthur said, tossing a rag at Jaime’s face. “It’s unbecoming.”

“I should be allowed to brood,” he replied firmly. “None of you understand, none of you understand what it is like to have a woman you love married to another, to have a future with her ripped from your fingers and then forced to watch her build one with another. You all made the decision to take the white. I was forced.”

“Were we not all forced?” Ser Arthur asked. “In one way or another we were. We were lied to when it came to the glory our cloaks came with.”

“It was still your choice,” Jaime said bitterly.

“Jaime—“

“No,” he said firmly. “You do not get to act as though you understand anything about me. You do not get to pretend as though you understand what I feel, what it is like to be in my position. I did not ask to serve a mad king. I did not ask to be the one left behind, to be the only one to guard the queen and her children while Rhaegar fucked the Stark girl. I didn’t ask for that. I never wanted this. I wanted to marry Celia and be the future Lord of Casterly Rock. You all made your own choices, you all got to take part in deciding what side of the rebellion you would all take. I had no choice. I had no choice!”

“Jaime—“

“You don’t get it, Arthur. Stop pretending that you do.”

—

Jaime escorted his sister to Celia’s chambers where Cersei was to help Celia ready for the day. Although it was technically to be done by a lower noble or even a maid, Cerseihad taken the role gallantly, being the only person that Celia truly trusted. 

Cersei knocked on the door and it opened. 

On instinct, Jaime glanced inside as Cersei entered. 

Celia was dressed only in her shift and Jaime could see a red mark upon her neck and Jaime could only guess what it was as Cersei giggled. Celia stuck her tongue out at her friend and the door closed. 

Jaime’s heart stuttered in his chest. He knew where such a mark would come from. 

He did not begrudge her for finding some sort of comfort in her marriage. He did not begrudge her for doing her duty as a wife.

But it still hurt. 

It felt as though his heart had turned into dust, it had shattered so finely. 

—

“How do you do it?” Jaime asked as he sat next to Ser Jon Connington. “Love someone knowing they will never love you in return?”

“I’m not the one to ask, Lannister,” he said plainly. “I am not the one to ask.”

—

Jaime stood watch over the young prince and the baby princess. They were sweet children and Jaime did not mind guarding them, but at the same time, it made him miss Queen Rhaella. She had been a good woman, kind and deserving of more than the life she had been given. Her sons did not deserve her. 


	15. Celia V

They were to break their fast with the high court. Celia sat next to her husband as they ate quietly. The hall was, by no means quiet, nearly bursting with conversation. Everyone was wondering why the king had ordered the lords and ladies to break their fast all together. 

Celia looked at her husband with slight concern. This was the first time he was out in such a public place since the incident. There were whispers as soon as they had entered the hall and she had felt the prince stiffen at the sound of it, shrink away inside even though, outwardly, there had been no difference. 

Perhaps he was nervous about how others would look at him, how they might see him. Although his younger brother was present, Prince Viserys had hugged his brother tightly as though nothing was wrong and Celia felt some relief for that, seeing the tension in his shoulders relax. Celia had held his hand up until their food had been placed on the table to eat, anyway. That had seemed to calm him even more and it made Celia’s heart flutter ever so slightly. 

Things had shifted between them, ever so slightly since he had first taken her to bed after the incident, when she saw him try to hide his pain from her. 

She stayed in his bed more often in the night, curling into his warmth as she fell asleep and waking up with his lips upon her brow as he went to train with Ser Arthur in the morning. 

It was not marital bliss as she had once imagined, but there was a sort of content there that Celia had not possible before. 

Perhaps they might truly come to care for one another. 

The king stood and everyone in the hall grew to be silent. “As you can all see,” he said, his voice strong and clear. “My brother has returned to us and in good health and as ruggedly good looking as ever.” This got a few cheers from some of the knights and Celia glanced at her husband to see the tips of his ears turn red. “To celebrate my brother’s swift recovery, the crown shall be hosting a tourney in a month’s time so that those who wish to participate might ready themselves if need be.”

Celia glanced at her husband at this revelation and was surprised to see his shocked expression. She looked at Queen Elia and she looked equally shocked. Had the king told neither of them?

However, the king’s announcement seemed to brighten the room’s atmosphere, as though they had longed for a tourney to provide them with entertainment. They spoke in excited whispers, rebounding loudly against the stone walls. 

Daeron turned to his brother and began to speak to him as he sat, the words hushed, yet stern, even if Celia could not hear him over the noise of the crowd. 

—

Celia knocked on the doorframe of her husband’s solar. He glanced up at her and shuffled some parchment, covering the one he had been writing on. He stood and went over to her, kissing her cheek gently. 

“Is there something you need, my lady?”

“It is nothing important,” she answered hesitantly. “If you are working, I can come back later.”

He shook his head and guided her to a pair of seats. “I was merely writing a letter, it was not work.” She sat down in her chair and he sat in his own. “Is there something you needed?”

“I was wondering,” she began hesitantly. “You seemed displeased at your brother announcing a tourney. Why is that?”

Daeron sighed, running his fingers slowly through his hair. “We are short on gold,” he said. “Ever since my father insulted Lord Tywin, the crown has suffered in its finances. And all my father’s mistresses and his need to have everything that he could to supposedly bring our family back from ruin, we have been driven to near debt. My brother released half of the Seven Kingdoms from paying their full tax, those who had been devastated by the acts of the rebellion. And then the crown is no longer supported by Lord Tywin because of what my father and brother both did. We do not have the money to throw this tourney.”

“We don’t?” Celia asked, a little confused. “Then why would the king suggest such a thing?”

“He hopes it will help him regain the favor he lost during the rebellion. My brother is used to being loved by everyone and he craves it. I suppose this is his way of trying to gain back the love he lost for the incident with Lady Lyanna.”

Celia stood up and then went on her husband, kneeling at his feet. “The crown going into debt will do nothing but cause issues for the people later on. Surely your brother has thought that through.”

Daeron nodded. “My brother does not have much thought when it comes to the effects of his actions. Just look at the abduction of Lyanna Stark. It was obvious that there would be monumental issues and yet my brother did not think of them and left Elia and the children alone with only Ser Jaime to protect them. He is not one to think ahead on things.”

Celia put her hands on her husband’s and he held them gently. “What if I write to Lord Tywin and ask that he gives his support to the crown for this one tourney. I know that everyone has kept rather quiet about who is responsible for the incident, although I know a few people have guessed. Perhaps if I write to Lord Tywin asking for him to fund this one tourney then we can at least ease the crown’s pocket as well as give time for the realm to recuperate from the rebellion to save time until the tax breaks are over.”

Daeron looked at her in surprise for a moment and then smiled. He stood from his chair and pulled her up with him as well. Celia blushed. He was so much larger than her and it made her think of private, more intimate moments. “I have married someone clever, I see.”

She blushed even more. “I am not too clever,” she replied. 

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “You are. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Even if Lord Tywin does not agree to help, I am happy to have such a clever wife.”

Celia looked down at their interlocked hands too embarrassed to see any of the admiration in his eyes. 

—

Celia walked around the gardens on the queen’s arm. They watched as cornice Viserys and Princess Rhaenys played amongst the flowers. They were adorable children and the little prince seemed to be very varying and gentle when it came to his little niece. The image made Celia smile. 

“I heard the king say that Lord Tywin has agreed to fund the tourney, although he shall do so privately,” Queen Elia said. “I believe there is only one person we can thank for that. And since I know my husband will say nothing, I must be the one to thank you Lady Celia.”

She blushed. “It’s nothing, truly. Lord Tywin owes me nothing and I simply requested it as a way to make up for the incident.”

The queen chuckled. “Lord Tywin does not do anything he doesn’t wish to and by asking him, it shows that he still highly admired you, even if you are not to become his good daughter.”

Celia smiled. She had loved speaking with Lord Tywin. He had always been so very kind to her, even if he were a little rough around the edges. “It is hard for the heart to change so suddenly,” Celia answered slowly.” She chewed her lip in thought for a moment. “Your grace, might I ask you something?”

“Of course, my dear,” the queen answered. “I am here to help you in any way that I can.”

Celia continued to chew her lip, unsure of how to continue. “I have heard rumors, your grace, that my husband was once… that he once had a relationship with Lady Ashara Dayne. I was wondering if, perhaps, that were true.”

The queen was silent for a moment and Celia’s heart thundered in her chest, waiting for an answer she was not sure she even wanted. 

“Daeron and Ashara have always been close friends, since we were all children. I suppose it was natural since they were so different. He has always been quiet and withdrawn and she was always very opinionated and loud mouthed. There was never anything truly romantic between the besides great admiration and friendship.” The queen put her hand atop Celia’s. “You should ask him about this yourself.”

“It feels as though it is such a sensitive topic. I don’t know why, but it feels that way.”

The queen smiled at her a little sadly. “Her death hit him rather hard and he was barely made aware of it before the king announced his betrothal to you. I know it is no excuse but it is an explanation. Ask him about it,” the queen insisted. “While it might be difficult for him to talk about it at first, I’m sure he will feel some relief if you ask.”

Celia chewed her lip. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

—

Celia dressed in Targaryen red for the tourney, a black shawl around her shoulders in case she caught a chill. She sat in the royal box with the king and queen and the royal children. She was surprised when she saw Jaime standing at the opposite end of the box, thinking that he would have been allowed to participate since most of the kingsguard were Doug so save for Ser Barristan due to his age. 

Celia looked out at the stage of the tourney where her husband was making announcements. Since the event he was wearing a loose white shirt and dark trousers laced up. He had rolled up his sleeves due to the heat of the direct sun and Celia blushed at the sight of his arms. This was how he was usually dressed for sparring that she was surprised he was dressed so casually for such a large event. 

“He usually dresses in such a manner for these events,” the queen told her. “He prefers it and it allows him to move more quickly if he needs to. He had helped plenty a rider he pulled out from under a horse if an accident occurred. Do not worry.”

Even so, Celia could not take her eyes from her husband, if not to simply keep her gaze from Jaime. 

Daeron turned to look up at her and she smiled at him, hoping he could see it and hoping she looked the part of the doting wife. They were a marriage to help mend the rifts caused in the rebellion after all. However, her heart fluttered just a bit when he smiled back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here’s a gif set I made for Celia and Daeron. It even has a scene from this chapter in the second gif](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/636961337405227008/her-husband-was-not-the-one-who-held-her-heart)
> 
> And yea, Daeron was writing another letter for Celia in the second scene.


	16. Daeron V

Daeron finished the announcements for the tourney, waving to the people and bowing to his brother afterwards. He then went to his private tent to change into slightly more proper attire. It was a habit he had picked up when he was younger. His mother had always made him change after entering the main grounds of the tourney so as to not bring mud and dirt into his father’s box. 

If this were any other tourney… if he was not injured, he would have participated. Perhaps he would have won as well. He would have crowned his wife as his Queen of Love and Beauty. Crowned her as he so often wished to. Perhaps it would make her smile brighten. 

She had smiled at him, when he had looked up at her. 

He had left early in the morning to help prepare for the tourney and had not seen her for the entire day until that very moment. She was dressed in Targaryen red with a black shawl wrapped around her shoulders. It was a dress he had commissioned for her specifically, but he wasn’t certain if she knew that. It was a dress his mother had designed, long ago, for his wife, whoever she might be. She had designed one for Elia as well and one for whatever girl Viserys would marry. He did not know if she had one made for whenever Daenerys would marry or if she had ever made one for his little sister. He wasn’t sure if she had ever had the chance to. 

But this dress… she looked beautiful, her hair braided in a Dornish style to match with Elia’s although there were distinct Riverland braids that looked like fishbones as opposed to the typical braids that women wore. 

She was beautiful and then she smiled at him and he could not help but smile back. 

He fell for her every day, every day that he was allowed to wake up next to her, press his lips to her hair before she awoke was more than he had ever dreamed of. It was more than he deserved. 

_ Who could ever love a pathetic boy like you? _

Daeron straightened his overcoat and climbed up the stairs to the royal box as the tourney began. 

Celia looked at him and smiled once more. He returned it and took her hand in his and kissed it.

He dared to not let go when he sat down next to her and felt relief when she did not make him do so. 

—

Daeron felt guilty about being happy. He felt guilt in the way that some of his worries eased away at the sight of Ser Jaime in the royal box. It meant that he could not participate. It meant that he could not crown Celia. And yet, he felt guilty. He always did at least a little whenever he felt even an ounce of joy from Ser Jaime not being able to give Celia sweeping romantic gestures. 

He felt guilt enough to let his wife’s hand go. 

_ Who could ever love someone like you? _

“Brother?” 

Daeron’s focus shifted to little Viserys, although he was little no longer. “Yes, little dragon?”

“Do you think the tourney will be exciting?”

“Not too exciting, I hope,” he replied, opening his arms to his brother and Viserys crawled into his lap. 

“Tourneys are boring,” Viserys sighed.

Celia glanced at him and smiled at the little boy pouting in his arms. 

Viserys wrapped his arms around Daeron’s neck and whispered softly so that no one safe perhaps Celia might hear. “I miss Mother.”

Daeron tensed but rubbed his brother’s back gently. “I do too,” he said softly and then pulled his brother away to wipe away the small tears from his cheeks. “Do you want to know what Mother used to do to make tourneys less boring?” Viserys was still pouting, but nodded. Daeron glanced at his wife. “Perhaps Lady Celia would like to help as well.”

“Of course,” she replied gently. 

Daeron smiled and turned his attention back to his brother. “Mother used to have Rhaegar and I bet on who would win a round and, whoever won, would be allowed to eat another cake during the feast.”

“Really?” Viserys asked in aw. 

Daeron chuckled. “She did. I once ate ten cakes during the final feast and Rhaegar once earned fifteen.”

Viserys looked out as a round began. “I think the green knight will win,” he said earnestly. 

“I think the blue,” Celia said with a smile. 

They watched as the round began and…

“Yes!” Viserys shouted triumphantly, clapping his hands as he did so. 

Daeron chuckled and he looked at Celia, who was looking at him.  _ Thank you _ , he mouthed. 

She smiled gently and bowed her head before telling Viserys her next guess. 

—

Daeron held his wife close as they danced to the music at the feast. She was dazzling, the color of dusk, sweeping across the room as they moved about the dance floor. 

“I fear your brother might grow sick from all the sugar he is eating,” she told him as they danced. 

“At least he only won five rounds,” he replied gently. “And I am sure he will not eat that much, not with how big of the slices that Elia gives him. If anything else someone will no doubt have to put him to bed early.”

“Is that why your mother did it?” his wife asked, giggling slightly. 

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “I had never really thought about it until I was older. I wish I could ask her.”

Celia looked up at him sadly but he simply shook his head. She reached up and touched his cheek under his injured eye. “How are you feeling?”

“It doesn’t hurt too badly,” he admitted. “Not today, at least. I’m told that it might ache whenever the weather changes.”

She smiled up at him, although it did not quite reach her eyes. “I suppose that means we might never go North or the Vale to see my sisters,” she said softly.”

He squeezed her hand as they danced. “I promise I shall find a way for you to see your sisters again. The rebellion has taken away so much already. Families should be allowed to see one another when they wish to.”

Celia smiled again as they continued to dance and Daeron held her close, never wanting to let go, but forever afraid that he would be asked to. 

—

His wife was curled into his chest, her hands pressed together under her cheek as she slept. 

She had been wonderful with Viserys, distracting the boy with ease from his memories and making the tourney enjoyable. 

It only made Daeron believe that his mother would have loved her, would have asked the young woman to serve the crown beside her and take her under her wing as she had been allowed to do with Elia. 

The thought of his mother made his heart ache. 

She had never been allowed to know what freedom from his father felt like, never allowed to know what it was like to not be afraid in her own home. 

He had failed to protect his mother, even though he had done all that he could. Rhaegar could turn a blind eye, but Daeron could not. He had done what he could to spend time with his mother to save her from having to spend it with the king. But he could not always be there, especially when Rhaegar dragged him from King’s Landing to fight against the rebellion he caused. 

He had not even been able to give his mother a proper goodbye. He had not been able to kiss her cheek and promise to return to her. 

“C–C–C–“ he wanted to talk to his wife but he knew he was too emotional, his tongue could barely work its way around her name. It was as though his body said that he was not worthy enough to speak it. 

Daeron carefully slid out of bed, making sure to tuck his wife in more securely. He kissed her hair before going to his desk in their solar, pulling on a robe so he was not naked and began to write all that he felt that he could not say and prayed that one day he would have the courage to give these letters to her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you guys will read the letter eventually and I promise Celia will read them. But goodness there is going to be so much angst when it happens and before it happens. 
> 
> And Daeron being a good older brother 😭😭😭😭


	17. Jaime VI

Jaime hated that he was not allowed to participate. It was not even the king or Prince Daeron who had made the decision, it was Queen Elia. She had been the one to issue the order that he was not to participate and, instead, watch over the Royal children. 

He could guess why she had done so. It was obvious to everyone how invested she was in the relationship between her good brother and Celia. It was obvious that she was trying to create a better marriage for them, but it did not stop Jaime from being resentful.

He wanted to participate, to win so that he could crown Celia as his Queen of Love and Beauty. Perhaps he would be able to do so in the next tourney, but he could not guess when that would be. 

Instead, he stood in the royal box to look after the young children as Celia and her husband sat on the other end, speaking lowly to one another and exchanging smiles. 

Jaime longed to draw close and see what it was that the prince had said to make Celia smile. It was not the smile she put on when she was trying to be polite. No. This smile was wide and true and dazzling. They watched the tourney in interest and she would whisper to her husband and point in the direction that his blind spot would be in and he would turn his head to look and then they would discuss whatever it was. 

It looked intimate. 

Perhaps not as lovers were, as Celia and Jaime would have been, but it was close, as though she had opened her heart more to him and it made his heart break, made his stomach churn with jealousy. 

He should be there. He should be the one by her side. 

Jaime looked away, not wanting to injure his heart anymore than it was. He turned his focus on the children and the tourney. 

Then, a horrid thought came to him. Soon, who knew how soon, Celia would no doubt announce a pregnancy. 

Would he be asked to watch the child as well? To guard them? Would he be asked to remain and watch as Celia’s belly swelled with the seed of a man that was not him? To hold a child that was not his?

The thought pained him. 

It pained him more than he could express. 

—

She was radiant as she danced with her husband. They were a picture, a verse from a song. 

She looked so utterly Targaryen, so unlike the girl he had known, the woman he had grown to love and yet he saw glimmers of her still in the way she held herself, in the way she sometimes smiled at the other guests of the feast and tourney. 

“My lady,” he said, bowing to her when she and her husband passed him. “My prince.”

Prince Daeron stopped to nod his head to Jaime, but instead of moving on, he remained standing as he was. 

Celia looked up at her husband in confusion and then turned her gaze back to Jaime. She looked uncertain for what she was meant to say. 

“How… how are you enjoying the tourney, Ser?” she asked softly, her blue eyes shining in the fire light.

“It is a beautiful tourney,” he replied. “I am glad that your husband has recovered well and that the king saw fit to celebrate his brother’s wellness.”

Celia looked up at her husband and smiled at him a little sadly. She was on the side in which he had lost his eye and Jaime was not sure if he could even see that Celia was looking at him. 

“I pray you enjoy the rest of the feast and tourney, Ser.”

“You as well, my lady.” Jaime bowed deeply to her and that was when Prince Daeron escorted her carefully away. 

She glanced back at Jaime as she left and Jaime’s heart went with her. 

—

At least one thing was rectified during the tourney. 

When Ser Arthur Dayne won the final match against the Hound, he took the crown of summer roses and offered them to the queen. She smiled gratefully at her fellow Dornishman and bowed her head to allow them to place them atop the silver crown she already wore.

The queen was smiling happily, joyously as Prince Daeron and Celia clapped for the older woman. The king clapped as well, but it was more subdued, but Jaime would give that, at the very least, he smiled. 

The entire crowd began to cheer when they saw who it was that had been crowned. 

It was a way, perhaps, to show that King’s Landing had progressed past what had happened during the rebellion, even if it was not that long ago. In this, at least, Jaime was happy. 

The queen, even though she had denied him the opportunity to participate in the tourney, was a good woman. 

The lords and smallfolk alike loved her. She was good and kind and loyal, almost to a fault. Jaime clapped as well when she stood straight, wearing her crown of roses and waved to the cheering crowd. 

In the eyes of the people, Jaime knew that it would look as though the royal family was united and that it was, indeed, a new dawn for House Targaryen. 

He only worried that this new dawn would begin the constant wondering of when the next royal birth would be.

—

Jaime danced with his sister during the final night of the feast. Celia was dancing carefully with her husband and Jaime kept glancing at her. 

“You need to move on, dear brother,” Cersei said gently. “This is only hurting you more.”

“Are you saying that she has moved on already?” He asked. “That her heart was fickle enough to to move on so readily.” 

Cersei sighed and shook her head. “Celia is a Tully. Family, duty, honor. Prince Daeron is her husband and therefore her family. She is used to connect House Targaryen to the rebel faction. You must see that she has much more going on then her heart simply moving on from you. I doubt she has simply stopped caring, but she is not interacting with you because many whisper that it was you who caused the prince injury. Do you have any idea what sort of scandal it could cause if it was confirmed?”

“I know,” Jaime replied gruffly. “But I cannot simply ask my heart to stop caring. My feelings are not something I can simply deny and move on from. I cannot act as though there had never been anything between us.” 

Cersei shook her head. “I am not asking you to. Celia is not asking you to. I am just telling you that the longer you hold on, the more that you shall be hurt by the inevitability that she must choose her husband, and whatever children they might have over you.”

“It would be easier if I were free,” he said. “Free from my cloak and free from my vows so that I would not be forced to watch her every day and know that she can never be mine.”

His sister squeezed his hand tightly. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know I cannot speak to you from a place of understanding because I cannot possibly understand your heart, but I am speaking to you as a sister and as Celia’s friend. I just want you both to be happy, even if it cannot be together.” 

Jaime kissed his sister’s cheek. “I know. Forgive me, Cersei,” he said. “I know I am not the most agreeable partner at the moment.” 

She smiled and shook her head. “No,” she replied honestly. “But you are my brother and I will do what I can to lift your spirits.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is trying. Sort of.


	18. Celia VI

Celia stood away from her husband as he made his way carefully around the maze. He did not do well in enclosed spaces such as the garden walls. He fumbled and mistook how close the walls were to his side. The maester had insisted that Celia did not need to be there, but she had to be. 

Daeron was her husband and she needed to be there for him as he recovered it was her duty. And it was her fault that he had been so hurt as well, even though she knew he did not blame her. Not once since the incident had he ever seemed to blame her. 

“You are doing so well, my prince,” she said gently. 

He laughed. “I feel as though I am making a fool of myself.”

“Not at all,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “I think it is admirable. So many would simply wallow in despair at their predicament. Or perhaps choose a life of simplicity so they would not have to work around their situation. But you are choosing to practice with Ser Arthur and to learn to navigate your surroundings. You are no fool.”

Her husband turned his lavender gaze to her. He had but one eye now and yet, it was as though he saw her so clearly. It made her heart flutter again, just a tiny bit. A smile crept across his lips, sliding into his features so naturally it was as though it was always meant to be there. 

“I wish I could see myself as you do,” he said gently, in his slow way that made every word resonate deep inside her heart. “I wish everyone could see the world as you do. I think it would be a far better place if we did.”

Celia knew her cheeks had turned crimson and her husband’s smile widened. Daeron kissed her cheek, the touch burning against it like a blazing fire. “I should probably continue moving, elsenthe maester might get upset with me.”

Celia nodded and let go of his arm so that he could continue to navigate the maze of the garden. 

—

“Do you think that you have moved on?” Cersei asked hesitantly.

“Moved on?” Celia repeated. 

“From my brother, I mean.”

Celia sat down her tea carefully. There came the ache that was a constant in her heart, even when she was not consciously aware of it. The way her eyes would flutter across the hall when she caught sight of short golden hair, the way she looked into the leaves of the trees in the garden and saw his eyes. 

“How could I possibly move on, truly?” she asked softly.

“You seem to care for your husband well enough and the queen seems to have said something that reassured you in some way.”

The queen had reassured Celia that Daeron did not love Ashara Dayne and that their relationship was not one where he would be mourning the woman. And yet she had not gotten the courage to ask him about her. 

“Jaime and I were parted so suddenly and without cause, save for jealousy on the Mad King’s part. We…” Celia folded her hands in her lap. “It would be so much easier if he were not here or if I were not here. It is as though my heart and soul knows that he is here, that there is even the slightest of chances that I might see him in passing, that he and I might be able to catch a moment together, even if it shall never be alone.”

“Does it mean you do not care for your husband?”

“My husband… When we first married… I felt as though I had offended him in some way. But now he is so kind to me. He does not blame Jaime for what happened and did not wish for him to be punished as severely as the king wished for him to be. And then he lets me speak to Jaime when the king has seemingly forbidden it. I… I will not deny that he has made my heart flutter, and when I am with him, there are moments I forget I had a life and love before him. He is my husband and I must love him as best as I can, but I feel as though he wishes that I might love him truly. I do not know if I can.”

Cersei reached out and took Celia’s hand in her own. “You cannot go back, Celia. No matter how much you wish it, you cannot go back. Prince Daeron is your husband and you are, I’m sorry to say, the one piece holding the fragile ending of the rebellion together.”

Celia closed her eyes and squeezed Cersei’s hand. “I know. I just wish it were easier. He… my husband is so very easy to love. And I fear I shall never love him as much as we are all meant to be loved.”

Cersei smiled at her. “You have the biggest heart I know. Perhaps not now, while the wound is still fresh, but I think you will love him someday. Love is not easy and it takes time. It is not always like you and Jaime where it simply happens because everything falls into place. It takes time. You have to work at it, build the foundation. You can do it, Celia. I speak it into existence.”

Celia blushed and squeezed her friend’s hand once more and smiled softly. 

—

Celia had grown used to the whispers that came when she entered the maidenvault, where Elia often held her own court away from the king’s, something Celia did not blame her for at all. Cersei squeezed her arm lightly, but did not call attention to the whispers other than that. 

Less people spoke out of jealousy, her husband still in recovery and his looks marred in their eyes, but there were still some that wondered why there was no news of a pregnancy or even a hint of one. 

The thought made Celia blush. It was not as though she and her husband were not trying. It was not as though she felt disdain at the thought of coupling with him or even swelling with his seed, but the gifs had not deemed to give her one yet. She wondered if, perhaps, a child would change things greatly. Surely it would change some things. Daeron would not just be her husband, but the father of her child as well. That would surely change things. They would Grover be connected by that child and any child that might come later. 

And she could see him being a father, she could see him holding a small bundle in his arms and cooing at the sweet child. She had seen him with his younger siblings and seen him with his niece and nephew. He would make a good father, a good and kind understanding one. She could imagine him setting everything aside should his child call for him. The thought made her smile. 

“Something appears to have left a pleasant thought in your head,” the queen said. “Might I enquire what your thoughts are?”

“It is nothing so grand,” Celia admitted. “I was surprised at how well my husband was with Prince Viserys. I would have almost assumed that the little prince would be closer to the king or yourself.”

Queen Elia smiled sadly. “Daeron was always the closest to their mother and he was oftentimes the only one allowed to see Viserys when their father separated the sweet boy from his mother. It was also Daeron that came to rescue them from Stannis Baratheon’s siege, as they had yet to hear of the rebellion ending. The poor boy was traumatized and Daeron was his greatest comfort. He had grown attracted to me more so in the past months as we readied for your wedding, not wishing for you to worry about caring for a child already.”

“He is a sweet boy,” Celia said. “I would not mind getting to know him and the other children better.”

“With time, my dear. The first year of marriage is crucial. It is better to get to know one another without any distractions.”

“Yes, your grace,” Celia nodded. 

—

Daeron was healing, but he still could not stay above her for long. 

It felt powerful, being atop him, feeling his hands on her hips, the calluses on his fingertips scraping against hers skin ever so slightly that it made Celia’s head spin. She wondered if this was how he felt when he was above her. This sort of complete triumph in knowing that he was the one who brought her pleasure as she was the one giving pleasure now. The way he grunted. The way his lips parted and caked her name. The way his head fell back against the pillow, eye closed and mouth open as she rode him carefully, making sure to grind against him, clenching around his length when the thought came to mind. 

His hand then went to her breast, cupping the soft flesh and his thumb grazing against the peak. Celia sighed as he began to thrust into her. It sent a thrill up her spine and Celia bent her body to change the angle. 

She wanted to kiss him, to take his lips in her own and taste him, taste what her name was like on his lips, on his tongue. But she kissed his neck instead. 

She was frightened of kissing him, frightened of liking it so much that she couldn’t stop. So much that any thought of Jaime would be permanently removed from her head. So she kissed him anywhere but his lips and relished them salt on his skin, the way he tasted in that way. 

Daeron pushed himself up so that he was sitting and began to kiss her neck instead. 

Celia put her hands on his shoulders and began to ride him a little harder. She couldn’t breathe. She was so close that it felt like she couldn’t breath until she was falling apart around him until she was crying out his name as he continued to thrust into her. 

“C-Celia,” he groaned as he spilled, filling her completely. 

She kissed his temple and whimpered when she got on her knees and he slipped out of her. His hands were still on her hips and she cupped his face in her own and kissed everywhere but his mouth and hoped that it was enough. 

For now it had to be, even if she was so dangerously close to begging for more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you guys don’t follow me on Tumblr, I got into a small car accident on Thursday night and couldn’t get my car fixed until yesterday. It’s been... quite the week. Like, this week has been my 2020. 
> 
> Sorry for the short chapters!


	19. Daeron VI

Training wasn’t as easy as it had been before. 

Arthur had told him he needn’t push himself so hard—it wasn’t as though he had any rebellions or uprisings to worry about. 

“You’re improving,” Arthur said as Daeron blocked a swing. “But I’m also not seriously trying to hit you.”

“P–perhaps I should ask Ser Jaime to s–spar with me,” Daeron huffed as they breakers. His eye did not hurt as much as it did before. But it was so hard to figure out what was going on around him at times. He had to focus so much more than he was used to. He couldn’t focus solely on his sword and the enemy in front of him and make sure that no one was attempting to attack him from his blind side, even if this was only a one-on-one spar and he didn’t actually have to worry about it. 

“Don’t even joke about that,” Arthur snorted. “I don’t want my niece to become an orphan.”

Thoughts of his daughter swarmed in Daeron’s mind. He wanted to hold her. He wanted her to know that he loved her even if he had never met her. He wanted her to know that one of her parents wanted her—had always wanted her. 

“I–I still don’t have Rhaegar’s l–leave to bring her here.”

“And have you even told your wife that you are a father already?”

Daeron blushed. 

“You need to tell her. I doubt any woman would be thrilled to hear their husband already had a bastard, even if it was before any betrothal, even if it is only a girl that would not interfere with her own son’s inheritance. Your wife seems like a sweet woman, but I doubt she would be pleased.”

“I’m t–trying to find the right t–time.”

“There’s never going to be a right time,” Arthur said. “It’s always going to be wrong. All you can do is be upfront with it. That’s all you can do.” Arthur thought for a moment. “Why don’t you relax a bit and tell her after you spend a week with her. There’s no reason for you to push yourself so hard.”

“I have a family I need to protect, Arthur.”

He thought about Celia and how proud she had been when she said what she thought about him fighting does one sort of normalcy after his injury. He wished to make her proud, in any way that he could. 

—

He still hadn’t given her any of the letters. He kept them in his desk, not even really hidden at all. There were four of them already. Four letters of varying degrees of confessions within them. 

He was too much of a coward to give them to her. Especially now that he was disfigured. He doubted that any girl cared to be married to a husband missing an eye. 

Perhaps if she had loved him before. Perhaps if she had some care for him beyond being simply her husband. But she was in love with Ser Jaime still and Daeron doubted that her care for him was nothing beyond duty. He did not begrudge her for it. She had not wanted to marry him. Her family’s hand had been forced because of the alliances they had made during the rebellion and Celia had been the one to pay the price for it. 

_ Dearest Celia, _

_ I hope to make you proud of me.  _

_ Sometimes I fear that your pride is all I can ever hope for.  _

_ It is a simple letter today. A short one. I suppose it is because I am so very tired at the moment. So very tired. Not of you, my dear. Of the secrets of the shame I feel bubbling beneath me. I am tired of the constant fear of your hatred. I am tired of the fear that I may never truly be able to make you proud.  _

_ I fear that you will never see me as more than just your husband, the man who has kept you from Ser Jaime.  _

_ I love you. I have for so long, but I wish I could set you free without worry of your ruin.  _

_ That is what love, is it not? To put the other before oneself? If I could let you go to be happy. If I could find a way, I would.  _

_ Your humble servant, _

_ Daeron _

—

“You should take her to Dragonstone,” Elia suggested as they sat for tea.

He had tried to come when she was with the children, including his younger siblings, in hopes that they might get better used to his face and the fact that he must cover part of it. 

“I’m the Hand of the King, Elia,” he said. “I cannot simply leave with my wife to vacation on Dragonstone.”

“You most certainly can,” she said firmly. “While I am sure you would much prefer a keep with less memories or your wife would prefer one where she might see her family again, this is the only option I think of that you might be close at hand and within correspondence if necessary.”

Daeron sighed. “I don’t know, Elia. I feel like leaving Rhaegar here without his hand to be negligent. I can barely handle him.”

“I am his wife, Daeron, regardless of his treatment of me. In the eyes of the Seven and Westeros, I am his wife and I can I rely keep him from doing something stupid for a moon and a half.”

Daeron sighed. “I do not know if my wife will wish to be long from Ser Jaime, even if they cannot officially see one another.”

“The fact that you bring her with you when you see the children and his guarding them is beyond me.”

“The injury was an accident and I have no doubt that I did something to make him angry with me. Beyond marrying the woman he loves, of course.”

Elia sighed. “Regardless, I think it would be good for the two of you to get away for a while. You did not have the time two newlyweds are usually given because the rebellion had barely ended. It might be good for you,” she insisted. “Being able to get to know one another better without the prying eyes of the court.”

“You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

“She deserves time away as well. And I think it might be good for her to see you away from court as well. It might also be a good time for you to tell her about Naerys. Tell her when she does not have to worry about controlling her reaction.”

Daeron’s heart squeezed in his chest, but he nodded. 

—

Daeron was trying to formulate the words as he broke his fast with his wife. “C…” he stopped. 

He always got stuck on her name when he was nervous. He always felt a freezing sensation whenever he was about to speak it. 

She glanced up at him, having heard his voice and his heart stuttered in his chest. Her blue eyes were upon him and he felt his tongue grow heavy. Daeron swallowed. 

“Would you like to come to Dragonstone with me?” he said slowly. 

“Dragonstone?” she repeated. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “I…” He swallowed again. “I cannot take you to Riverrun or Winterfell or the Eyrie. Not yet. Rhaegar still needs me close. But… I can get you out of the Red Keep for a month or so. Elia says that she can handle my brother for that amount of time. What would you say?”

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes taking him in and Daeron felt a blush deepening in his cheeks. She smiled at him. He could not tell if it was in pity, but he thought perhaps it might be. “Of course.”


	20. Jaime VII

It soon became apparent that Celia and Prince Daeron would be traveling to Dragonstone for a retreat for an undisclosed period of time. Jaime knew that he would not be joining them. 

He wondered, briefly, if this might be a good thing. If this would be a chance for him to heal and for him to ease his heart from her, but the thought was quickly dashed when he passed her in the hall of the Red Keep. 

How could he possibly let his heart wander from her?

She was made to, of course. She was married and she had said vows and Prince Daeron seemed kind enough. He could not quite begrudge her for trying to find happiness. He felt a deep bitterness settle in his belly, but he knew that she had no real choice in the matter and she was making the best of the situation she was placed in. 

Perhaps it would have been easier if the prince she had been married had been horrible. A horrible person he could rescue her from. But no, the prince was kind to her and allowed her moments of assumed privacy so that Jaime might speak to her in public. 

It did not mean his heart would be at ease with these things. 

Celia wore a black dress with gold trim, golden dragons and fire curling around her waist. Her hair was braided and piled carefully upon her head. It was rather similar to Queen Elia’s but there was also something reminiscent of Queen Rhaella in how it was styled. 

There was not any of the typical brightness in her step that he saw when they were younger and she was unmarried. She was walking like a married woman with grace and sophistication that Jaime had always imagined would come when they married. A grade that would come with him by her side, but it was obvious that she did not need him for that and a part of him hurt to know that she would continue to grow without him and that he would grow, in turn, without her. 

Jaime bowed as she passed by and he could hear a slight stutter in her steps as opposed to seeing it. He felt like if he took a closer look, he would drag her to him and kiss her, beg her heart to not forget him. But he would not do it, not so out in the open. 

He would not dishonor her so. 

The taste of her lips at her wedding feast still haunted him. He wished he could renew the memory, but he could not. He could not risk her. Prince Daeron was kind, but he doubted he would be so kind after such a public display. Neither would the king. 

Jaime kept his head down and Celia continued to walk, his heart beating helpless against his chest, longing to follow her. 

He looked up and watched as she drew further away from him. Jaime did not think he would ever love someone quite as much as he still loved her. 

—

Cersei handed him a letter bearing Celia’s handwriting a day later. 

“She wanted me to give this to you,” his sister said. “I told her it might be best if she didn’t. But she wanted to tell you some things in her own words rather than news passed on through my lips or someone else’s.”

Jaime looked at the letter in his hand and rubbed his thumb along the lettering of his name. Her penmanship had always been beautiful, had always been like her own voice, gentle and easy, even against his own wandering eyes that came with his own reeding. 

Jaime carefully opened the letter, only slightly fearful of what it might entail. 

_My dearest Jaime,_

_I am certain you have already heard that I am to be heading to Dragonstone with Prince Daeron. It was a suggestion made by Queen Elia and my husband put the idea to me. While I could have easily said no, I felt it right that I only said yes._

_Not only because he is my husband, but because he is the person I am to spend the rest of my life with._

_On this trip I hope to make it work between us. I hope to make our marriage into something more than attempts to be cordial and to give my husband a child. This is the man the gods have bid me to spend the rest of my life with and I wish to make it work between us._

_This does not mean that my heart will suddenly forget you. It does not mean the feelings I have long held for you are false. It merely means that I owe it to my husband to try and make it work, try to give him bits of my heart that I had not thought could belong to any but you._

_He is to be the father of my children, Jaime, and I do not wish for us to have a coldness between us that so often comes from arranged matches such as our own._

_Forgive me, Jaime, if that makes you hate me. If you were free, and unburdened by your white cloak, I would tell you to find a girl worthy of your love and affection and loyalty. But you are too honorbound in some ways to break your vows of the Kingsguard._

_Either way, I ask that you do not hate me for what I am doing. I am trying to let my life become happy in a way I had not hoped for it to be after you took your vows. And know I will never hate you should you choose to find comfort in another._

_Love,_

_Celia_

Jaime held the letter to his chest and looked to his sister. “Might I write back to her?”

Cersei shook her head. “I feel that it might be better if that were not the case. I feel that it would be best to leave it as it is. It is best for both of you, I think, to have this distance. I think this is the only way to move forward. I only ask that, once she returns to the Red Keep, you greet her with a smile and, should she be with child, congratulations.”

—

Jaime was surprised when Prince Daeron called Jaime to his solar. He knew, for a fact, that Celia was not there, that she was with the queen and the children. He could not imagine why the prince would wish to see him, why the prince paid special attention to Jaime and did not seem the least bit concerned with his past relationship with Celia or the fact that he was now blind in one eye due to Jaime’s actions. 

“You are probably wondering why I have called you here,” Prince Daeron said slowly. It was interesting how the prince always spoke that way. It was intentional, methodical, as though every word that slipped from his mouth was well planned out, even if it was not immediately apparent or the thoughts gone into the words were not completely thought through. Even so, there was something purposeful about it. 

“Yes, your grace,” Jaime said, bowing his head. 

“I know…” he paused. “I know that you are in love with my wife and that she is in love with you.”

Jaime’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Your grace—“

Prince Daeron held up his hand. “You don’t need to worry. It is not too widely known by the court, Varys made sure of that. For my father’s sake to make it appear you willingly chose to leave behind your role as your own father’s heir or for my own sake to not make it appear that my wife would be constantly put into question, I do not know. However, I will make certain that my wife’s integrity is protected.”

Jaime nodded. “Yes, your grace.”

“I do not begrudge my wife for her affection for you. I do not wish ill on you for the love you hold my wife. I am taking Celia to Dragonstone not to keep her from you, but because my good sister bids me to, but also because I hope that our marriage might become stronger in our time away from court. I have not been the best husband. I have not helped her create a proper place in this court and that is due to my own failings, not her own. As her husband and as a prince, it is my duty to make her feel like she is worth more than her connections to the rebel families.”

“Your grace?”

“I promise you, Ser Jaime, I will take care of her. In that, I ask, you do not worry.”

Jaime looked at the prince in surprise. Not because of his words, but because he felt the need to say them to Jaime himself. He was shocked that he was willing to accept his faults and state that he wished to do better. He was more of a man than his brother, the king, in that regard and Jaime could not begrudge him for it. 

He hoped, for a brief moment, he prayed, that he would make a good husband for Celia since he, himself, could not be. 

—

Celia wore a light blue dress with a red ribbon around her waist and woven into her hair as their ship was finished in its preparations. She stood next to her husband who wore simple traveling clothes. If it were not for his hair and visage, he would not have been noticed to be a prince, but a simple lord standing next to his lady. 

The thought hurt, even though Jaime knew that this was what needed to be done. 

Celia looked up at her husband and asked him something, Jaime was too far away to hear it. Prince Daeron looked at her and bent his body slightly so that he might be closer to her ear to speak. She smiled at his reply and nodded. 

Once the ship was ready, they gave their farewells to the rest of their house as well as their friends who were being left behind. Only Ser Arthur and a handful of other knights were coming with them as they would have servants ready for them at Dragonstone. 

Prince Daeron helped his wife into the ship before properly getting on himself, followed by those accompanying them. The wind tostled Celia’s red hair slightly and she combed it behind her ear with her fingers. She looked to her husband, still smiling although he waved to his brother before turning to smile back at her and leading her further into the ship. 

Jaime stood upon the docks and watched until the ship became a speck upon the horizon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off to Dragonstone. 
> 
> Why does it feel like all of my stories are heading to Dragonstone in one way or another?
> 
> New fic called Tempest Grove is out if you guys are interested, just go through my Celiaverse fics and you should be able to find it after ADOS. 
> 
> I am also having another Celiaverse contest so if you need more info on that, it’s pinned at the top of my tumblr.


	21. Celia VII

“What is Dragonstone like,” she asked as they walked the deck. Her husband was determined to practice walking on the ship and because of the nice weather, Celia did not wish to stop him. “I’ve read about it, of course, but books hardly describe what it is like.”

Daeron smiled and seemed to ponder her question for a short moment. She walked on his bad side and wondered if he could see that she was looking at him. “Dragonstone… it is not the most beautiful of places. House Targaryen has never been known for their architecture.” At that, Celia laughed and her husband turned to look at her better and smiled down at her. “It is a brooding keep with dark stones. It is the most beautiful in the morning, as the sun is rising. The dark shadow against the yellowing sky. My mother used to rouse Rhaegar and I whenever we visited to watch the sun’s first kiss to the sky. My mother’s hair would turn into firelight against it as well.”

“I would love to see it by sunrise.”

“I shall find a day we are not so completely exhausted and take you to the spot my mother used.”

“That would be wonderful,” she replied. 

“What was it like living on Dragonstone, I know you lived there temporarily at times as well.”

“It is a rather straightforward keep so there’s no need to worry about getting lost, although I managed a few times when I was a child, but other than that it felt like I was flying at times. The wind is rather strong and to a little boy running about the keep, I liked to imagine it was what flying felt like.”

“Did you imagine yourself to be a dragon?”

“Or that I was flying one. I had only a little more freedom than Rhaegar did because I was not the heir, but I used that time to the fullest, I think.”

“I think you must have been an adorable child,” she said truthfully. “Silver hair blowing about you as you rushed about the keep in a cloak.”

Daeron chuckled. “I don’t think I was adorable, my mother always said I was rather handsome.”

Celia smiled brightly. “I’m sure you were that as well.”

“We shall get there by the middle of the day tomorrow.”

“Shall we go on a tour then when we get there?”

“A partial tour, perhaps. You have never been on a boat of this size for this long and you might be surprised at how your legs feel once your feet touch land. A partial tour at first and then we can rest for a short while and have a meal and then I can show you the rest.”

“Perfect,” Celia said, squeezing her husband's arm slightly. “I look forward to it.”

Daeron turned his head and pressed a kiss to her temple. The warmth of his lips brought a blush to Celia’s cheeks. She glanced up once his lips left her skin and saw that his head had turned so that he might not see her expression. She wondered, briefly, if she would have wanted him to see what color such a chaste kiss could bring to her cheeks. 

—

They didn’t couple during the night. Instead they had curled together in their cabin bed and Celia watched as her husband slept. The moonlight flicked in through the small window and Celia came to the conclusion that her husband was handsomest in moonlight. 

It was not because of the darkness that came with it, no. It was because the softness of the moon seemed to erase the worries occasionally lining his brow and his hair became a river of silver against it. 

She could see some of the scars on his chest in this light as well. The slight puckering of the skin on his chest, no major injuries, just harsh knicks no doubt brought about by battle and practice. 

Her husband was a gentle man, despite the occasional harshness of his words. 

Celia slid her hand across his stomach, pressing herself more firmly to his side. His hand covered her own and she looked up, to see the moonlight sparkle in his eye. 

“Can you not sleep, my lady?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep, but his eyes showed that he was perfectly awake. 

Celia slipped her hand from under his and tucked some stray hair behind his ear. “Did I wake you?”

“I find it hard to sleep on ships in general,” he answered gently. 

She smiled up at him, blushing a little. “You tend to sleep so peacefully.”

“Because I am with you,” he answered. “If I sensed danger I would waken, but I feel at ease when you are by my side.”

She looked at him with wide eyes, but he smiled and cupped her face in his hand, his thumb rubbing along her cheek. Celia took his hand in her own and kissed his palm before placing it back. “I know you would protect me,” she said softly. 

“I’m glad I inspire such confidence.”

“You do.”

Daeron looked at her for a long time. “Celia?”

“Yes?”

“I…” A strange expression crossed his features that Celia could not make out in the shadows as a cloud appeared to cover the moon. He was trembling slightly. 

“What is it?”

“I… I…”

Celia put her hand over his own and pressed a kiss to his cheek. The cloud cleared as she pulled away and she saw her husband’s gaze on her. There was worry, she thought, and pain, as though the words would not come to him. 

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Whatever it is, you can tell me when you are ready, Daeron.”

She trusted him. She trusted him completely. Perhaps that would be the foundation of love. Perhaps this would be the beginning. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. 

Celia shook her head and turned it slightly to kiss his palm. “You need not apologize.”

Celia pushed herself forward again and kissed his cheek. She rubbed her nose along his jaw and a groan rumbled in his chest. Celia hesitantly let her hand slide down his body until she felt a bulge in his trousers.

Daeron stayed her wrist for a moment. “You need not worry,” he whispered roughly. “You don’t… you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Has your scar healed enough for it? To be atop me?” She felt it, the slight stirrings of want in her belly. 

“You don’t have to.”

“Do you not want a child?”

“With you?” he asked. “With all my heart. But I do not wish for you to see it as a duty. I want you to want to do it. I want it to mean something.”

She did not know how to answer that, did not know how to feel about it. “So you want it?”

“I want you,” he said. “But I will not ask you to give me something you do not wish to.”

“I’m your wife,” Celia whispered. “I want to be a wife to you.”

“And I want you to be more,” he replied gently. “But I don’t think you’re ready. I know… I know you still love Ser Jaime and I do not fault you for that. I do not fault you for loving him.”

Celia’s breath caught in her throat. “Daeron—“

“You were meant to marry him. Had my father not gotten in the way… had my brother freed him from his vows… You would have the happiness you so desire. I hate that my family has been the cause of your unhappiness.”

“I am not unhappy,” she said firmly. It felt like her heart was breaking, but she wasn’t sure why. It felt as though her husband imagined a life without her. “I just… I had planned a whole life with him and I have been asked to give it up. Made to.”

“If I could give you your happiness I would.”

“Do you not feel like you can give me happiness?”

“I want to. If you would let me. But your heart is not mine. And I cannot force it. I am not my father or my brother. I am not Jaime Lannister or the Dragonknight. I am just me. I want to be worthy of you. I want to be the one you plan your life with. But I cannot ask you to change so suddenly. You have plenty of reasons to resent me.”

“I do  _ not  _ resent you. None of this has been your choice, as it has not been mine.”

“I did not give up my home. I have not been forced to act a husband while serving as a hostage in all but name. I have not faced neglect from you that threatens my position in court. I have treated you dishonorably. I have not protected you as I should. For that I am sorry.”

“You need not apologize—“

“I do. I have been a bad husband and you deserve more than me. You deserve more.”

“As do you.”

He smiled at her, it was a sad smile, one that seemed to mean so much more than an expression could possibly give. He kissed her brow. “I deserve less and I am sorry that the gods have given me my hope for happiness at the cost of your own.”

“Daeron…”

“Sleep,” he whispered softly. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.” He chuckled, although it did not seem true. “We have the rest of our days to speak of such things. But we must sleep.”

Celia looked at him for a long time and then curled into his side and nuzzled her face into his chest as he held her losely. 

She knew he was right, that they needed to rest. And yet… she felt her heart twist painfully in her chest at the thought of his words. He deserved to be loved, just as she did. She prayed that this time at Dragonstone might allow for some feelings to grow. 

—

Dragonstone was quite the sight in the distance as their boat drew closer to the ancient keep. It cut a shape against the sky, as though someone had formed a shadow upon it and kept it there. 

It was not the most beautiful of keeps, but there was something about it. 

It almost looked like a resting dragon against the rocks. Celia wondered what it would have been like when dragons still flew in the sky. How would it have appeared? Like a song, she supposed. Like some song that she would have loved from her childhood. 

“What is your first impression?” her husband asked. 

“I think it is a sight I have not seen before. The descriptions, I think, do not do it justice. I feel as though the people who have written about it do not understand the appearance upon the first look and speak of it through weary eyes who have spent too long on the island.”

Daeron smiled. “I believe that would be a good way to describe their words.”

“See you are not impressed by the sight.”

“There are a lot of memories here,” he replied. “A lot of ghosts.” He kissed her hand. “I hope that you enjoy our time at Dragonstone.”

It was then that Celia remembered. His mother had died here. His sister had been born here as well, but death was far easier to remember. Celia wrapped her arms around Daeron’s and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Promise to show me all the secrets of your childhood. I’m certain you found plenty of fantastic things when you were here.”

“Plenty,” he replied. “And I hope to show you all of them. Although, I fear I was much smaller when I discovered them and they might not be as enjoyable for adults our size.”

Celia smiled up at him. “I’m sure it will be quite an adventure, regardless.”

“I hope so,” he replied. “I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

“I think it will,” she said earnestly. “As long as you are by my side.”

He kissed her brow and Celia so desperately hoped that they might find happiness here, that they might see the seeds of love and companionship as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a nice emotional chapter. 
> 
> There is also a Celiaverse contest about to start soon. For more information, check out my tumblr. The post is pinned to the top of my blog!


	22. Daeron VII

For all her kind words about Dragonstone, he could tell she wasn’t as impressed with it as she might be for other keeps. Harrenhal or Storm’s End or even Riverrun. Those were grand and beautiful keeps. Dragonstone was a dark shadow across the sky at times. 

He thought about their conversation the night before. He had tried to tell her about Naerys, tried to make the words form on his mouth as he longed to tell her. Then she had stopped him and said he did not need to tell her yet and he took the coward’s way out. He prayed he had the courage to tell her before this trip was over. Celia deserved to know. She deserved to know that he had a bastard and deserved to know that he loved her, that Ashara had been nothing but a friend to him. She deserved to know. 

Daeron prayed he had the courage to tell her before they were called to leave Dragonstone. 

“Tell me about Riverrun,” he asked as they walked in the very small gardens of Dragonstone. Neither wished to get in the way of the staff as they unpacked their things and tidied up a bit. It was also a way to help them get rude of their sea legs. 

She smiled up at him and began to speak of Riverrun and her childhood happily, discussing her sisters and brother and the ward her father had taken in when she was young. She seemed to radiate a sort of happiness as she spoke on her youth and Daeron hung on her every word, imagining her and her family walking along the moss covered stones playing pirates or their other games. 

He was a little jealous of that freedom, of the friendship she had with her siblings. Daeron and Rhaegar had never been friends. Never been close. Their father had encouraged a cold rivalry between them that neither Daeron or his brother cared for, but while their father spent most of his time with Rhaegar, Daeron spent his time with their mother. They had different childhoods in a way. 

“I’m rambling,” his wife said. “Aren’t I?”

“Not at all.” He was jealous of that too. He would sound like a fool if he allowed himself to ramble. “You’re simply passionate about your childhood and your home. Hearing you speak of it makes me want to see it through your eyes. Perhaps before the year is out I will be able to convince Rhaegar to allow us to tour the rebellious houses to better our relationship with them. Then you might be able to go see your sisters as well.”

Celia held onto his arm tightly. “Truly?” 

“Truly. Considering how much you’ve put up with my family, it is only logical that I spend time with yours. I am even prepared for the threat of violence against my person if I should mistreat you.”

“It would not be so bad.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps not, but I am ready for the threats. I am certain your family worries about you and if threatening me makes them feel better about your position in King’s Landing, then I shall take the threats.”

Celia smiled up at him blushed. He smiled back at her, his heart warm. 

—

“We’re these your chambers as a boy?” Celia asked as they went to their rooms. 

“These were Rhaegar’s,” he said. “Mine are down the hall. These are simply the better kept rooms and it has the most comfortable of beds, although it used to be mine. I lost it in a bet with my brother when we were boys.”

“What was the bet over?”

“I don’t recall although I’m certain it was stupid. We couldn’t have been older than fourteen at the time.”

“Were you sad to lose it?”

“Devastated. Cried about it to my mother but she said it would not be good to go back on my promises.  _ A man is defined by his promises and keeping them _ , she would say.”

“I wish I could have met her.”

“She would have loved you, I’m sure,” Daeron told her sincerely. “I have no doubt that she would have invited you to tea every day and been perfectly happy to tell you every embarrassing thing about me. Not to be cruel, of course, but because she would not be able to help herself. She did the same to Rhaegar, much to his annoyance.”

Celia giggled. “She sounds wonderful.”

“She was.”

Celia’s arms wrapped around his arm and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. It felt like fire, burning into his skin. “She would be proud of you, I think.”

“I’m not sure she would.”

His mother would have told him to inform his wife of Naerys, would have told him that she had a right to know, and she would be correct. But every time he wanted to, the words would lodge in his throat and refuse to come out, the fear and shame keeping him tethered to his guilt. 

“You’re a better man than you think Daeron,” his wife said gently, letting go of his arm and moving to stand in front of him. “I wish you could see yourself as others see you.”

“And I wish I was even half the man you think I am.”

Celia’s fingers brushed along his cheek, just under the eyepatch. Daeron closed his eye and leaned into her touch. He wished he deserved her. Wished he could be like Jaime Lannister for her. Wished so many things that could and would never truly be. 

Celia kissed his cheek tenderly. “Let’s head to bed.”

Daeron nodded and began to undress himself as Celia did too. 

He had felt embarrassed that his wife had felt his need for her on the ship, felt his wanting and felt that she would alleviate it for him. But that was not what he wanted. He wanted their coupling to mean something. He didn’t want sex for the sake of having a child. He wanted her to feel good, he wanted her to feel pleasure. He didn’t want her to feel like it was a chore or a duty to fulfil. He wanted her to want him to want to be pleased by him. He would get down on his knees if it made her feel like the princess she was.

Celia took his hand and pulled him to their bed. It was much better than he remembered. The bed was soft and firm in all the right places. Celia curled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder as they prepared for sleep. 

“I hope that things become better between us while we are here,” Celia whispered to himself softly. 

Daeron put his hand over hers, which was over his heart. “As do I,” he whispered. “As do I.”

—

Daeron had a few things he had to do the next day for Dragonstone. He had to go over the paperwork and make sure that everything was being run properly. This was his nephew’s keep now in name and Daeron wanted to make sure his brother hadn’t neglected his work, which he had. 

He hated that he could not spend more time with Celia, but she understood why he had to go over the paperwork first. She had kissed his cheek and told him that she would go exploring, with one of the servants going with her so that she might not get lost. 

“Sometimes I think you’re right and she’s too good for you,” Arthur said, leaning against the wall.

“Y–you are very f–forward when you want to be,” Daeron replied, his words coming out more easily now that he didn’t have to focus on them flowing correctly. 

“I am forward all the time,” the Dornish knight replied. “When do you plan on telling her

“S–sometime soon.”

“It should be today.”

“I’m t–trying. The words won’t come out.”

“How about you practice what you’re going to say to her and then work on the words you’ll trip over or don’t use them when you tell her.”

“T–trying to.”

Arthur sighed. “Honestly. Perhaps we need to get you drunk. Even if you stutter, you won’t care much and then you can tell her that way.”

“I w–won’t remember then,” Daeron replied firmly. “Why I don’t drink.”

“You don’t drink because you get handsy and will go along with whatever someone tells you. You also don’t get drunk because you're afraid of being like your father.”

Daeron’s lips formed a tight line. 

“You’re not your father, Daeron. You aren’t Rhaegar either. You don’t intentionally hurt people. You don’t carelessly hurt people. You’re better than them, Daeron.”

“And y–yet people still get hurt.” 

Arthur sighed again. “What happened with Ashara… it was war and it was her own choice, no matter how much she might have blamed you for it. We don’t know how she would have reacted if Ben had been the one to lice and you had been killed. Would she have been able to look him in the eye knowing he had killed her daughter’s father? I don’t know. You can’t continue to blame yourself for a decision that was wholly her own.”

“I c–can’t help it. She was my b–best friend.”

“And Celia is your wife and the one you are hopelessly in love with. Tell her the truth.”

“I c–can’t lose her.”

“You might if you keep hiding this from her. Tell her the truth. Tell her the truth so you two can start as equal a relationship as you two possibly can.”

Daeron ran his fingers through his hair and nodded. He knew his friend was right. 

—

“Daeron.”

He looked up to his wife and his breath caught in his throat. She wore a black dress with red embroidery across the bodice and the sleeves mimicking dragon scales. A slight webbing in the sleeves as well, almost imitating wings. The skirt had grey embroidery, imitating smoke and black embroidery of a hidden dragon at the hem. 

Celia was smiling at him and spinned for him to see the full effect of the gown. “I hope you do not mind,” she said. “I found the dress put away and I thought I might try it one. I look truly Targaryen. Don’t you think? The servant said it was worn by your grandmother. It’s a bit behind when it comes to fashion, but I find it beautiful.”

Daeron stood and went over to her. He touched the hem of one of the sleeves and found the patchwork that had been done to mend it. He had no doubt that there were some on the skirt as well. 

“It was my mother’s dress too,” he said quietly. 

He could still feel the burn of the fire across his skin as his father tried to force him towards it. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen. His mother hand separated them forcefully and pulled him away from the fire, her dress getting singed in the process. He remembered his mother holding him as he cried as his father screamed at him, for not being enough of a man, not being enough of a dragon.

“Should I take it off?”

Daeron’s attention snapped back into focus on his wife. She looked concerned, she looked hurt. “N…” He swallowed the stutter back down. “No, it’s beautiful on you,” he said. It was the truth, it was a beautiful dress on her. She looked good dressed in black. 

“Even so, does it make you uncomfortable?”

He shook his head. “I just haven’t thought about this dress in a long time. I did not even think it was being preserved. You should keep it. I think… I think my mother would have wanted you to have it.”

Celia smiled up at him and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry for startling you.”

He chuckled. “It was a nice surprise.”

“Are you done with the paperwork?”

Daeron nodded. “I am at your disposal.”

“Then give me the tour of all your favorite places.”

Daeron offered her his arm and she took it. “As my wife commands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought last chapter was great but I hardly got any comments. I feel like a baby in a strange way. “Feed me!” Lol
> 
> But yeah, more insight into Daeron’s childhood.


	23. Jaime VIII

It felt as he had when he was first taken from Celia. When he had been ordered to a white cloak and he had been taken from the happiness he had dreamed of. 

He could remember that day, the look upon her face when he turned to see her, to gaze upon her as their future crumbled about them. 

Now she was gone from him again. 

Of her own choice, in a way, and yet not at all. 

He could not balance the thought at all. 

She was married. She was married and had to do her duty. It was no secret that the king was expecting to hear from his brother that a new royal child would be born soon. 

The thought of Celia growing round with child, from the seed of another, made his stomach turn slightly. And yet he would never deny her the chance of motherhood. It would suit her well. It would suit her perfectly, actually. 

She would be a wonderful mother, caring and loving. Any child would be blessed if she was their mother. She was given a king heart from the gods and any child she bore would be equally as lovely and kind as she was and Jaime was determined to protect those children as if they were his own. 

The bought off them with silver hair and violet eyes hurt him though, more than he could ever say. 

But what else was he meant to do? What else was he meant to say? 

Any future he had with her was gone, any chance of happiness was torn before his eyes and tossed at his feet like waste. 

He went to Cersei often, asking if she had received a letter. His sister scolded him and reminded him that Celia and her husband had only been gone for a few days there was hardly any time to send a letter. There would be hardly any time to write one and Celia had never been on a ship for that long, she could have easily gotten sea sickness and was not well enough to write them. 

“Could you send a letter and ask?” Jaime whispered, shifting uncomfortably under his sister’s stare. 

“I am not interrupting Celia with her husband, Jaime,” Cersei said plainly. “She needs to get used to being married to him as he needs to be with her. This is a marriage that Celia must be actively a part of. This is the man who is going to father her children. She must grow used to it and me pestering her, when she would be fully aware my questions are from you, shall not help her.”

Jaime pursed his lips but he knew that she was right. Pestering Celia for answers would do nothing and there was also the fear that if he was too close to her, her place in the royal family might be questioned. People would wonder if any children she had might be his own if they did not look Targaryen enough. There was a great fear that she would be put in danger, as would any child that she might have and the thought terrified him. 

Jaime would not put it past the king to make sure something like that did not happen. 

—

He dreamed of her. 

He could still taste her lips upon his own, the way she had been pressed against him during the wedding feast, the way she had moaned softly into his mouth as he held her tight. 

Sometimes his dreams got away from him, showing him things he had so desperately wished for, wished he was selfish enough to do. 

That night, he dreamed of Celia pressed against the wall of a forgotten hallway of the Red Keep. The slight echoes of the feast were distant in the back of their minds as they kissed. As they took claim over the other’s mouth and fought for dominance. 

That night, he dreamed of pushing up her skirts as she unlaced his trousers. The feel of her creamy skin against his calloused fingertips and the way she shuddered in pleasure against his touch. The way her own fingers would brush against his hardening length as she undid his laces and the way her hand might wrap around his cock. 

She would pump him a few times before she would slide her small cloth to the side and he would thrust into her. She would be so wet and ready that she would barely be able to feel him taking her maidenhead at all. 

He would take her against the wall, promising the world to her and promising that he would take her away from this place. Everything and everyone else be damned. 

Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her legs wrapped tightly around his hips as he made her his own. 

She moaned his name, his name sweet against her lips like honey that he had to kiss her to taste it. 

Then they were in bed in a ship to sail away from the Red Keep and the Targaryens. He was still inside her, thrusting into her, his body trembling with need as she clenched around him, shuddering in pleasure and crying out with it. 

He jerked awake and spilled. 

Jaime came with a shuddering gasp as he looked at the ceiling above his bed, his hand wrapped around his cock, his seed sticky against his hand. 

He swore silently to himself and went to clean himself off chucking off his pants and tossing them in the fire before putting on a fresh pair after he washed. It didn’t look like anything had gotten on his bed, for that he was thankful for. 

But shame swirled in his belly. He would have dishonored Celia in his dreams like that? He would worship her body and take her from this place, possibly putting her father and sisters and brother in danger as he would put his brother, sister, and father in danger. 

A wounded heart was dangerous, he supposed. A wounded heart could do so much more damage than a sword. 

He needed to force Celia from his mind so that they might both be able to live towards a brighter future, one greater than the rebellion had originally left them. 

He was not certain what that future might be, but Jaime hoped that it was one where they might both find happiness. 

—

A woman around his age was carrying way too much than she possibly could by herself. The boxes were towering over her and Jaime doubted that she could actually see anything, and she was going so slowly that he doubted she would be able to make it to wherever she was by the end of the day. 

“Do you need help?” he asked. 

The woman paused for a moment. “Yes please.”

Jaime carefully took some of the boxes, which weren’t that heavy but rather cumbersome. Into his arms and waited for the woman to steady herself with the remaining ones. 

“Thank you, ser,” she replied. She had a rather odd accent, but he could guess that it was near enough to a Vale one that she must have come from there. 

“It is no problem, my lady,” he replied. “Where are you taking these, I shall help you.”

“I am taking them to the queen’s chambers. Others were supposed to help me but they had other things to do.”

He had never seen the girl before and could only guess that she had been left with the work because the others were too lazy to wish to. “I shall take you there then.”

“Thank you, ser.”

They began to walk toward the queen’s chambers. “May I ask your name, my lady, I fear I do not recognize you.”

“Alayna, ser,” she replied. “I’ve not been here long and thank you because I would have wandered around for a long time.”

“You should not have been left alone,” Jaime said. “This is a job clearly for two people. I shall speak to the queen on it. She’s not the type of person to enjoy seeing her staff mistreated.”

“Thank you, Ser…”

“Jaime,” he informed her. 

“Thank you, Ser Jaime

“There is no need for thanks. It is only the right thing to do and I have the time to help you.”

“Even so, thank you. I am certain many people passed me by and did nothing.”

Jaime nodded and glanced at the woman beside him. She had raven black hair and nearly perfect grey eyes. She was pretty, but she didn’t appear to have any confidence in herself. 

Jaime helped her to the queen’s chambers and helped her settle the boxes. “Do you need any other help, my lady?”

“Might you help me to the gardens?” she asked. “I fear I have no clue how to properly get to them. I was supposed to head to the queen once I was finished with this.”

“I shall take you there then, my lady,” he replied. “If you ever get lost and you see me, feel free to ask for directions. I shall not mind giving them to you.”

“Thank you, Ser Jaime, she replied with a sweet smile.”

—

Prince Viserys was attempting to play with his niece and nephew and younger sister. While Princess Rhaenys was old enough to follow after her uncle, she was nowhere near old enough to enjoy the same things he did. And Prince Aegon and Princess Daenerys were just babies and most definitely unable to play with the older prince with any real enthusiasm. 

Prince Viserys seemed to take this in strides though, trying to build things with the blocks alongside Rhaenys, but Jaime could tell the boy was bored and he made it no secret that he missed his older brother Prince Daeron. He did not ask for the king, even though the king was his brother as well. This was either because Prince Viserys had a favorite brother or he had little to no closeness to the oldest of House Targaryen. 

Jaime watched them and wondered if he would one day have to do the same for Celia’s children. It would break his heart. He was not certain he would be able to handle it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember the Celiaverse Contest is open!


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